


Snow and Ice

by HollyGlow



Series: Pirates, Princes, and Soldiers [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 61,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyGlow/pseuds/HollyGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year and a bit after The Reichenbach Fall, John has fallen into a darkness that he doesn't even see. Sherlock's carefully lain plan to stay away and protect the man he didn't want to admit he had feelings for must be thrown out the window. Johnlock, AU Post Fall, Teen-Explicit depending on chapter. Includes Angsty/Hurt/Comfort feelings related to the Fall and Irene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

            Two men in crisp black pants, both seemingly more angles and lines than any softness or flexibility sat silent for the moment as the car rolled past building after building. The silence was tense, heavy, and littered with unspoken words and angry feelings. Mycroft Holmes held one hand tightly on the handle of his black umbrella, surveying the other man with tightly pursed lips and a grim look. The other man sat in silence, his thoughts clearly occupied and having no interest in conversing with the man staring at him so intently.

                        "Are you quite sure this is the right..." He paused, "Method?" Mycroft crossed his legs.

                        "Quite, now please be silent. I already told you I need to prepare." The other man snapped back.

            There was nothing but, silence. Silence and the emptiness that 221B, Baker Street had come to symbolize for him. In the slowly descending darkness, John Watson lay perfectly still on the couch in the living room. Hardly anything had been moved since the hollowness had settled inside his heart. Since Sherlock's... He turned his head to the side so it was facing the couch cushions. He'd been so sure, so convinced that this was another part of the game - that he'd be back. It had kept him strong for awhile, he'd even managed to meet a nice woman and date her for a few months. But then it all fell apart. He grunted as the memories tried to play out in his mind, digging his fingernails into his leg until they stopped. He was exhausted. He had no energy left. He just wanted to sleep and never wake up. To never feel this overwhelming emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole every day. He heard the snap of a car door outside, a few barked orders, and silence.

            Was it Friday already? He let out a soft sigh, his body wound so tightly he felt like his muscles might snap. It was just PTSD - that's what his therapist kept telling him. Get out of the flat, go back to work, take up exercise, live. She kept telling him over and over, but she didn't _understand_. She didn't know what it was like to have Sherlock Holmes as the center of your universe and then have nothing. It was like seeing the sun rise every morning, feeling it's warmth, knowing it's dangers and then suddenly one morning nothing but darkness. No rants about the stupidity of those around him, no dangerous chases, no looming danger that they were united together against, no... secret looks, whispers that were denied, touches that... His heart fluttered and then sank as the weight of the things left undone and unspoken settled over him. His anger came and went as he mentally scolded himself. Why had he never told Sherlock the truth? Why had he never asked why he kept looking at him like that? Why he would sneak into his room and watch him? Why hadn't he just admitted that he...

            He heard the door open downstairs and a very quiet conversation with Mrs. Hudson. He was sure he heard a third voice but dismissed it as being one of the assistants Mycroft often brought with him on these 'visits'. Mrs. Hudson let out a small squeak of delight and John wondered what sort of lovely evening Mycroft had planned for her this time. Every two weeks Mycroft came to the flat, bringing some takeaway that he thought (usually incorrectly) that John might like, for a visit. These visits were tedious chores that John had stopped even trying to pretend for. Each time he would send Mrs. Hudson out with one of her friends to shows, dinner, the cinema, whatever he came up with. He was at least usually better with those. Which made John happy in some dark place, as Mrs. Hudson deserved joy. She'd been amazing to him, bringing him breakfast and tea each day. He had a slight suspicion she was keeping tabs on him as she never cleared away the food and the cups of tea she made him until later in the day, as if keeping count. For three days he hadn't eaten. He had no desire for food. No desire to...

                        "Are you sure?" He heard Mycroft whisper softly to someone, but no answer in reply.

            Originally John had put forth an effort, believing that Mycroft was doing this out of some sick sense of guilt over Sherlock's demise. He'd made sure every time that the flat was clean and neat, he'd clean himself up and make sure that he did his best to bite back any stupid comments. But after almost nine months of the incessantly annoying prying into his mental health and personal life, he'd stopped caring. Then when things... fell apart again... He gave up. The last visit he hadn't even gotten up and turned on the lights. He didn't really have the energy to right now. He didn't care. He just wanted to be let alone to rot. Then he heard it.

            Footsteps on the stairs. His face tightened as he heard, no imagined, _that_ footfall. He didn't move to look as he heard someone setting down the food on the spotless kitchen table. He didn't dare turn and face the brother of the man he missed so much it was like his soul was missing. He felt Mycroft looking over him as he lay in the dark, Mycroft standing in the doorway in his best attempt to be imposing. A muscle tightened in Mycroft's face as surveyed the state of the flat and it's resident. John's outline clear on the couch. He'd lost so much weight and clearly had not done anything to care for himself in the last several days. The second man stood frozen in place as he surveyed the room before him. Sherlock Holmes almost felt the air in his lungs compressed out of them as the _emotion_ of what he took in settled over him. _What have I done?_ He focused his mind and began deducting things about the room and its' occupant.

\- John was lying on the couch, exactly where Sherlock lay when he was bored or thinking on a case. He wanted to be where Sherlock had been. To maintain some sort of connection to him. _Desire, he didn't just miss him. It was more than that. It was desire, need, longing..._

\- Weight - down at least twenty if not thirty pounds. John wasn't eating. His PTSD and depression were devouring him from the inside. He didn't care about his health because he felt he had nothing left to live for. _Heartbreak, his heart was shattered without Sherlock's presence._

\- John's armchair currently contained Sherlock's violin, skull, cigarettes, and a letter on beige cardstock with a lipstick imprint. In a convenient place so that when John rolled over he could look at the items. The _pieces_ of Sherlock that were left. He needed something tangible. _Need, he needed Sherlock._

\- Scrapes on the floor by the arm chair meant that when Mrs. Hudson cleaned effort was made to drag the chair back to where it was. Back to the position that John sat in it, when Sherlock was musing about a case. _Not wanting to forget._

\- John was unkempt, his hair wild, his clothes rumpled. He no longer cared about his appearance. He'd given up. _Love._

            His heartbeat raced as he looked over every detail in the way only he could, The amount of emotion and sentiment it conveyed to him was overwhelming. _I thought it was a mistake_. His chest felt constricted, like he couldn't breathe. Mycroft had told him, but he had not believed a word of it. _His_ John was stronger than this. _His_ John didn't show weakness like this. _His_ John needed _him._ His breath locked in his chest as his heart hammered against his ribs. He tried to speak, to say something that would draw John out of the darkness around them, but his voice felt trapped inside his throat. And for the first time he could not detach from his feelings. Love. It was _screaming_ at him from the scene before him. He saw how John shivered from the cold, even without the lighting the flat normally had this time of day. He saw how John refused to get up to even get a blanket, wanting so desperately to remain in _that_ spot. The _devotion_ to his memory, to him, was almost too much for Sherlock to handle.

                        "Good evening, John." Mycroft said softly. Realizing his brother was busy in his mind.

                        "Yea." John's reply was weak, muffled, and devoid of emotion.

                        "I've brought dinner. Mrs. Hudson has informed me you haven't eaten in three days." Mycroft continued on trying to maintain normalcy. He could feel Sherlock fighting his mind, trying to find a way to comfort the broken man before them. He sighed, tightening his mouth into a frown.

                        "Sod off." John's voice lacked it's normal anger as he spoke. He simply curled himself into the couch more. "I don't want to visit today. I don't care anymore. So please, leave."

                        "John, I think it's understandable that you..."

                        "I SAID GET OUT!" John raged, he turned over to look at Mycroft in anger and all of the color bled from his face. His eyes fell on the one man he'd been desperate to see. The one thing in all the world he didn't even have hope for anymore. He trembled hard.

            His breath quickened as he sat up in one move, but Sherlock saw the panic. He saw the darkness that raced through John's body and tried to consume him as his eyes locked with Sherlock's. The two of them silent as the room seemed to suddenly become devoid of oxygen. Both of them terrified to move or speak. John didn't think it was real, he seemed to believe he'd finally lost it completely. He looked to Mycroft who simply turned and exited the room. Car door slam, engine starting, and echoing silence. John was shaking hard. He was clenching the cushion so tightly under his hands he was scared it might tear. Sherlock clenched his hands, trying to regain his normal calm demeanor but the amount of emotion this man felt for him was too much. TOO much!

                        "I... You..." John tried to speak, moving to stand and falling. As he fell Sherlock moved, almost fluidly, to catch him and help him back down on the couch. The feel of Sherlock's hand on his arm was too much. John fainted.

            Sherlock sighed and lay John back down. He removed his coat, sweeping it off of himself and draping it over John like a blanket. He then set about the flat, turning on lights and the heat. Surveying the rest of the information he needed to catch up on what had happened for the last year. He came back and picked up the cardstock letter from John's chair and was surprised to see it contained so little information. All it said was: Don't give up, you know the truth. - The Woman. A sign of solidarity to a man who was broken. His eyes flicked over John again, a whole host of feelings trying to crowd into his mind all at once. The chief of which was grief. He'd known that this would hurt John, but he'd never expected to see him cracked in half like this. He moved the things from John's chair and sat down, steepling his fingers in front of his face and focusing on the information. It had to be true then. The things the two of them left unsaid, the feelings that had driven him to show his sorrow enough that Molly had caught it. The things that had driven him to setup this whole plan. The man he felt utterly devoted to in a way that he'd vowed to never feel in his entire life, was destroying himself because of it. He walked over to the kitchen and rummaged around. He was still looking for something when Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

                        "I thought maybe the takeaway would be too much for him. I have some packets of beef tea..." She smiled sadly at Sherlock.

                        "You are the gem of England, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock gave her a small smile and a kiss on the head before taking the packets from her. He fumbled around with the kettle and made a cup of the tea for John. Mrs. Hudson retreated back downstairs, closing both doors behind her. Sherlock took the cup over to the table and set it down just as John opened his eyes.

                        "It's finally happened, I've gone completely mad." John said as he sat up. He furrowed his brow and didn't look around. He was staring at the coat. _The_ coat. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers like a child might, as if trying to prove it was real. Then he did something that completely floored Sherlock. He picked it up and buried his face in it, smelling it. He fought the tears but his back shook with them. A pained look spread over Sherlock's face.

                        "You..haven't." Sherlock offered softly, placing the tea down. John's head whipped up to look into _those_ eyes. The pain on his face was absorbed into John's mind slowly and John found himself confused by it. There was heat and grief, and something that threatened to pull John in and drown him.

Crack!

            Sherlock stumbled back slightly, holding his face. John had frozen exactly where his hand had made contact with Sherlock's cheek. He was panting for breath, anger pouring out of every part of him. But the slap had been held back. Sherlock had felt the moment when John tried to stop himself. There was still hope. He'd slapped him, not punched him. There was ringing silence for two minutes before Sherlock picked up the tea and offered it to him.

                        "You need to take nourishment." Sherlock whispered, meeting his eyes again.

                        "Why?! Why did _you_ do this to me?!" John shouted, his anger and grief spilling over.

                        "I had no choice, John. Drink this and I will explain." John tensed at the sound of his voice, it was almost pleading. Desperate. It sent shivers through his whole body. "Please."

                        "I... How can I be sure you haven't poisoned it?" John tried to use humor, but his voice didn't follow suit and it fell flat. A small smile tugged at Sherlock's lips but faded quickly.

                        "Do you think I would come back _now_ , to poison you?" His words were so... So full of emotion that it deflated John's anger and disarmed him. Their eyes locked as words poured free of both of them.

                        "I'm surprised you came back at all." John's hurt broke free of his control, the words cutting Sherlock. They broke eye contact, John flushing with shame and Sherlock looking away as if trying to decide what to do. John moved to apologize but Sherlock shook his head, forcing the tea into John's hands.

                        "I'm not surprised you feel that way." Sherlock stood and began to pace, the way he did when he was explaining things. "I have been gone a lot longer than I initially planned. But then... Once I was gone I thought perhaps it would be best if I stayed away. You couldn't know, John," Sherlock stopped and glared at him until he began sipping the tea. "I had to make it look so real that you, the only person in this world who could see my truth, believed it." He spoke quickly, as if his words had been rehearsed but he had forgotten all his lines. "You had to really believe I was gone because if you believed it then so would they." John moved to speak and Sherlock clicked his tongue impatiently, the way he did when someone interrupted him. "Let me finish." He ordered, John watched him though it made him dizzy. He wanted to absorb this moment so that even if he woke up tomorrow and found out his mind had conjured it up he could remember the feeling of joy spreading through his body. "He was going to kill you. Not just you, but _especially_ you." John looked momentarily confused. "He wanted to strike at me in a way that I had never opened myself up to before. In a way that _you_ brought into my life. I was so content on being alone and isolated before we met. He would have had no leverage over me." He mused softly, still pacing. His brow furrowed with both confusion and intent. "But you came into my life and I suddenly had people I cared about, people who mattered. But none more than you. And he knew that. My death was necessary, in order to protect you. That was his condition. If I lived you died. If I died, _you_ lived."

            He looked at John with a look that seemed to plead, _please understand what I'm saying_. John's eyebrows quirked up and he looked at him as his breath caught in his throat. Their eyes met again and Sherlock moved over closer to him. John's skin seemed to be covered in goose pimples as he realized just how close Sherlock was. He set the tea down and gently reached out, slowly - as if expecting his hand to contact air. Sherlock couldn't be sure where John was reaching for, so he stayed perfectly still. John touched his cheek with two fingers feeling the cool skin underneath of them. The shock of so gentle a touch on the same cheek where John had slapped him just minutes before sent shockwaves through Sherlock. For a long moment neither of them spoke out loud, but John searched the eyes of his flatmate for the truth. He couldn't read Sherlock the way he knew Sherlock was reading him. But he saw how he responded as John touched him. John's focus still on the man before him. Sherlock's face was so different in this moment, _see what you've done to me_ , his eyes pleaded. _I need you_.

                        "Why didn't you contact me sooner?" John whispered, not wanting to break the moment.

                        "I didn't want to hurt you. A certain amount of time was necessary so that you would begin to move on and others would believe it was truly over." Sherlock's voice was still soft, but his face hardened some again. He didn't pull away, wanting to show John he was trying. "I was going to leave England, go somewhere new and try to build a life without..." It was unspoken but felt. Without _you_. "But I found myself dragging my feet. Finding reasons to linger. Asking Lestrade for cases to stay busy, but avoiding coming home." Sherlock looked away, something akin to guilt building in his features. "Then Mycroft told me how you had stopped working." He chanced a glance back at John. "That you were beginning to fade."

                        "Someone sent me pictures of the...of St. Barts. I..." It was John's turn to look guilty and ashamed.

                        "I know." Sherlock replied. From anyone else John would have felt slighted or angry for such an insignificant comment. But from Sherlock it was so much all at once. It was something that made John melt inside. He suddenly felt as if he was no longer solid. His hand gently trailed down Sherlock's cheek and jaw, around his neck and up into his dark hair. His lips parted softly as John touched him. "You recovered some, but when Mycroft told me you weren't eating or sleeping... I knew I couldn't abandon you to the darkness I'd caused you." His voice was so soft.

            John couldn't tear his eyes away from how Sherlock Holmes, the great emotionless detective, seemed to just melt under his fingers. He'd always wanted to touch him like this. He'd imagined it over and over again. His heart pounded in his chest as their eyes met again. His feelings for this man weren't proper, they weren't right, but they were unstoppable. He'd tried to deny them after his death. Tried to tell himself it was just normal grief.

                        "There's something you're not telling me." He whispered softly, making Sherlock's eyes widen.

                        "There..." Sherlock looked like he was debating on answering. John game him a look that pleaded for the truth. "You're in danger. I can protect you better beside you."

                        "I should wring your neck." John said softly, a tear falling from his eye. "I should shake you and hit you. You've wrecked me, Sherlock." Sherlock moved to speak and John shook his hand, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling gently, but with authority. "No, it's my turn." He growled softly. Sherlock could not stop the thrill that went through him. "But I can't. All I have wanted was for you to come back. For you step through that door so that I could tell you all the things I was too afraid of before. So that I could show you that we could have worked together. That we are together in this!" John's voice grew slightly louder but was still a whisper.

                        "I'm better when I'm with you." Sherlock conceded. "Mycroft even said so." His mouth fixed itself into a hard line as he admitted it. "You brought something into my life that I didn't even know I needed or wanted. You, John. Before meeting you I didn't have friends, or even colleagues. I didn't have entanglements or attachments or concerns. I didn't worry about what I said or how I said it. But suddenly here you are, dropped in my lap unceremoniously by a common acquaintance. Put right in front of me like a wall and I just kept trying to go around it. To avoid how..."

            He didn't get to finish because at that moment, John using his grip on Sherlock's hair pulled him into himself and kissed him with all he had. The atmosphere of the room changed in an instant and they were all _over_ each other. Sherlock embraced John fully, letting his hand run up into John's hair and crush his body against his own. The feel of their bodies touching was not what either of them had imagined it to be, but was so incredibly relieving to both of them. They felt the tension melt away in each other before a new feeling began to replace it. When they finally came up for air, both of them disheveled and hair a mess John looked Sherlock dead in the eyes.

                        "No more lies or secrets." He demanded. "I can't. If I'm going to let you back in, to let you... See this..." John motioned to both of them, indicating what had just happened.

                        "I can only try, John. I'm not like you. This isn't easy for me." Sherlock started to protest. John pulled him back for another kiss.

                        "Then that will have to do for now."


	2. My Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's back but that doesn't mean John is just going to let things be normal.

John felt warm and comfortable as he slept, completely content in the feel of someone beside him. He didn't realize that Sherlock was wide awake laying next to him most of the night, he only knew that he felt safe and comforted for the first time in over a year. His dreams were calm and peaceful for the most part, but as the daylight crept into the bedroom that changed. Suddenly he was back in the road, looking up at Sherlock - completely powerless to stop him. Within moments Sherlock was falling, the scene crashing through John's dream and turning it into a nightmare. He choked on a sob.

Sharp pain, a scream, the sound of crashing.

                        "John? John?!" Sherlock's voice was insistent as he shook John awake. John opened his eyes and looked around in a fit of panic. Sherlock stood there, one arm through the sleeve of his shirt and the other hanging off of him. His bare chest half exposed. John found his attention lingering on the angular curves of his chest before the realization of the moment jolted him back to reality.

                        "What the hell?" He mumbled softly, turning to look into Sherlock's face.

                        "You screamed and threw your lamp." Sherlock said, confusion on his face. "I was in my room getting dressed. Were you having a nightmare?"

                        "A.. Wait.. What?" John jumped up and looked around. He was dressed in his t-shirt and boxers. "Oh, sorry." He offered as a scant apology, turning his face away from Sherlock. He was definitely upset and embarrassed.

                        "For having a nightmare?" Sherlock asked in an incredulous tone. The look on his face said _I should be the one apologizing_ , but it lasted only for a moment.

                        "Going out?" John deflected, flushing slightly with shame. His tone was definitely unhappy.

                        "Oh..." Sherlock paused, looking confused and conflicted. "Lestrade called about one of the cases..." He suddenly felt as if going to Scotland Yard was not the best idea, his face tightened as he tried to understand the moment before him.

                        "Oh, well then..." He sighed. So that was that? Everything was just 'normal' again? The _hell_ it was.

                        "Now that I consider it, it was rather stupid of me to make that arrangement." Sherlock's admission jolted John from his angry thoughts.

            He ignored him for a long moment, rushing around to tidy his room and trying his best not to focus his attention on the half uncovered chest of his... What were they now? The kiss had changed things, hadn't it? As John's eyes swept over Sherlock's chest a third time, Sherlock coughed - perhaps hiding a slight blush. He pulled his other sleeve on and did up the buttons. As John moved over to collect trousers and a shirt, Sherlock watched him with almost painful fascination and deep concern radiating in his eyes. His face was like a puppy, which would have been adorable to John if he hadn't felt so raw. Sherlock didn't know what he was doing, so he did what he thought was right.

                        "No," John snorted. "It's fine. I don't know why I would have..." He was gearing up to explode. Sherlock saw how his features tightened, how his body seemed to quake with the emotion pouring through him. He moved quickly to his side, one hand cradling John's chin. The effect drew John's glance to his own and he felt John's breath hitch in his chest.

                        "Because as always, you think I am better than I am." He said softly, a sad look in his eyes.

                        "NO! This isn't how it's going work Sherlock!" John wrenched himself away, which took incredible effort. "You can't just charm your way out of a situation like this! A year, Sherlock! A God damned, soul crushing year!" His hands and arms shook as he let the emotion out, rage spilling over. Sherlock watched him, first gearing up for an angry retort and then letting his shoulders slump. He opened himself to John's emotion, it should have calmed John to see such surrender in that moment - but it only made him angrier. "Day after day, waiting for something, ANYthing from _you_! Then it's just Hi, I'm alive, back to work!" He was shaking so much harder as the emotion tried to break free. Sherlock straightened up and put his hands on John's shoulders, again drawing his attention.

                        "Do you honestly think this was easy for me?" His voice was firm but soft. He was trying to be gentle. But there was darkness there. "That I just walked away and everything was perfect for me? I don't _do_ emotions, John. They're dangerous. They cause failures, mistakes, and make people falter. It terrifies me that I already have let them sway me so much that _your_ life was at stake. It would have been so much easier to stay gone, to let myself close back down. But damn it John, for you I want to try!" John sagged against him, clinging to the front of his shirt at chest level.

                        "But this can't just be normal. Things aren't like they used to be, Sherlock. You can't just act like we've been paused for a year." He dug his nails into Sherlock's chest before he stepped back and looked around the room, surveying it. The bed was neat and orderly, then he noticed that there was an imprint next to where he slept. The exact size and shape of Sherlock without his shoes on. A stack of files sat next to the bed, the top one open and pages clearly out of order. "What is that?" He asked softly, rubbing his neck. Sherlock actually looked worried for a moment before resuming his normal demeanor, including his impatience at explaining something that to him should have been obvious.

                        "I knew that this incident caused your nightmares to become more frequent. So after you went to bed last night I came in to stay near you. It seemed to help you stay calmer when I was near you before, so I thought perhaps it would help again." Sherlock looked slightly guilty and if John looked very closely he could just see a bit of color on his cheeks. "Lestrade and I have been working on finding the remaining pieces of the puzzle Moriarty so carefully constructed, so I brought..." John stopped him, grabbing his hand.

                        "Don't say that name right now, please." John almost begged. He grunted as a flashback rolled over him, Sherlock bracing him and gently guiding him down on the bed.

-The panic inside his heart, unable to do anything. _Helplessness. I am helpless to stop these memories for him_.

-Strong emotion, bottled up inside, weakness, inability to maintain emotional stability. _Wounded, because of me_.

                        "I'm sorry." Sherlock said softly, looking like the word didn't quite belong in his mouth.

                        "What did you just say?" John looked at him, raising an eyebrow. The two of them dissolved into hearty laughter before John just shook his head.

                        "John," Sherlock sighed and looked at him, clenching his fists slightly. "You shouldn't be this easy with me. I don't deserve..."

                        "Don't you dare tell me how to feel." John said softly, pulling Sherlock's hand so he sank down on the bed beside him. "I shouldn't, you're right. I should beat you stupid and then beat you again. But I can't." He sighed and looked down. "All I've wanted for the last year was this. You, here. With me." John looked down at the floor, sighing as he revealed some of how he felt. "I know you don't _do_ emotions, but you have to hear me out." Sherlock put a hand on John's, trying to reassure him. It said: _But I said I want to try_. John sighed softly again, trying to let the anger go. "There were too many things we didn't say. To many times that we both gave each other the look we gave each other last night and nothing happened. So many times that... I walked away. All I had left when you were gone was regret. After someone sent me those pictures I gave up. What was the point? There was the evidence that the man I admire more than anything, a life I cared for more than my own, a man I _killed_ for - was gone." Sherlock looked uncomfortable. It was too much, more than he deserved. This was his fault, he'd put John at risk and brought him pain. He wanted John to be angry, that was the logical reaction to this situation. John should be hitting him, or kicking him out, or any other number of things that an angry person would do. But he was trying to forgive him. Trying to allow him back in, even though his trust had been compromised.

                        "You need to eat." He said firmly, his tone completely masked. "And I need to care for you."

                        "Sherlock, that's not..."

                        "It is. You are telling me you need me to be here with you. You're telling me how to prove to you that I really want to share this with you. You're telling me you need _me_ to help you let out these feelings. You haven't been to therapy since she told you to move out of the flat, so you've just held all of this inside. It's killing you." His voice was the same he used when he analyzed a crime scene. John's mouth tightened, he was analyzing him _now_?

                        "Should I even bother to ask how you know that?!" John turned to him, his eyes dangerous. "So what? You watched me too, with Mycroft? All this time?! You saw how I was..."

                        "No." Sherlock cut him off with a sigh. "Mycroft gave me periodic updates, hoping I would..." He paused, his face tightening. It was still too much. He didn't want to admit that he held back because he was terrified. If he kept his emotion away maybe John would be safe again. Deep down he knew that John had never been safe, not from the moment they'd made eye contact. But he wanted to feel like it was safe again. To feel that invincible feeling he'd gotten when they'd chased that cab, so long ago.

                        "Come home?!" John moved to get up, he needed to move. The room suddenly felt claustrophobic. The damn Holmes brothers...

                        "No," Sherlock grabbed his hand, making him turn back to look at him. "So I would let myself feel." He pulled John into him again and kissed him, cutting off John's planned angry retort. His hands gently reaching up and caressing his sandy hair. He ruffled it slightly as they broke apart. "You need me to be here with you now. To help you. So let me help." He whispered.

                        "How do you..."

                        "I have always and will always know what you want or need, John. I have from the first moment I saw you." His smirk gave away his ego and irked John.

                        "I needed a flatmate." He growled back.

                        "You needed a friend." Sherlock pushed him back down on the bed so he was sitting. He then left the room and John heard him walk over and grab his mobile from the coffee table. "Lestrade," a pause, "No. I can't today." Another pause. "I suppose." Another. " _We_ can look them over later." He replied with strong emphasis on the 'we.' John somehow knew that was a him and Sherlock 'we.' "No, not at the Yard." Sherlock hung up and slammed the phone down with slight attitude. John then fought a laugh as he heard Sherlock muttering as he fumbled about in the kitchen.

            It all felt so surreal. Sherlock being kind, showing emotion to him. Sherlock being in the house. He was there, making noise, yelling at the teapot, cursing Lestrade. He licked his lips and almost moaned when he caught the taste of _him_. His thoughts lingered back to waking up from a nightmare to see his face there filled with concern. Half dressed even. The sound of the kettle falling in the sink jolted John away from his less than innocent thinking and he stood, moving out into the main part of the house. He entered the kitchen, running his hands over his face and had to fight a laugh. Sherlock looked so _wrong_ in the kitchen trying to make tea. His mind clearly not in sync with his hands. John knew what the effort meant and he let it soften his anger and hurt. They'd both wandered in darkness alone for almost a year and now together again they had no idea how to interact anymore. Both aching inside, both hollowed out from a year of regret.

                        "Here, let me." John laughed softly as he took over the tea. "I think there's still a tin of biscuits on the counter. Mrs. Hudson bought them for me last week."

                        "John," Sherlock tensed, he wanted to say something. To say the _right_ thing. But John felt right in that moment, didn't need him to say _anything_.

                        "It's alright, I get it. We both have no clue what we are doing." He sighed. He didn't want this tension between them. He needed peace and calm, he needed things to be okay. "But don't get to thinking that mouth of yours will get you out of everything."

                        "Oh, but it might." Sherlock's tone was quite clear and John almost dropped the kettle on his foot. There was _no_ innocence in that comment. When their eyes met, Sherlock smirked making John blush and cough slightly.

                        "Oh sod off." He snapped, realizing it was a lackluster response to such an indecent statement. Sherlock accepted his victory with his usual smug smirk as the two set to work.

            John poured the two cups of tea and sat down at the table while Sherlock opened the tin and set two biscuits down in front of John, taking one himself as a show of solidarity. John tried to focus and make himself eat his, but the effort didn't go well. He hadn't had anything solid in three days, making his stomach a bit confused at the sudden addition of sugary cookie. He looked up and caught the intensity with which Sherlock was watching him, fascination evident on his face. John blushed.

                        "What?"

                        "I don't think, despite all of the times we went to get food, that I ever just watched you as you ate. It's rather mesmerizing." A wicked grin, John blushed more. He turned his attention back to his biscuit but almost choked when Sherlock spoke next. "When?" He demanded and though John knew exactly what he meant, he feigned ignorance.

                        "When what?" The tongue click again. John would need more time become reacquainted with it.

                        "When did you realize how you felt for me?" There was ego behind that statement, pure and unadulterated. He didn't ask when John realized he _had_ feelings for him, no. When did he realize _how_ he felt? John scanned his face for a long time before replying.

                        "You're really asking me that?" He let his surprise show and was rewarded with a small smile. He nodded. "I knew there was something when we first met, adoration maybe?" He mused, pausing in his eating. "You just rattled off my whole life in a series of seconds. It was and is incredible. The feelings came and went over and over, surfacing more strongly when we were in danger or you weren't taking care of yourself. But there was no more denying how I felt when I found myself thinking of all the _wholly indecent_ things I wanted to do with you when you showed up to Buckingham Palace in nothing but a sheet." Sherlock's grin hitched higher and his eyes sparkled mischievously. John blushed, coughing again and sputtering into his tea. After he recovered he looked him dead in the eyes, "You?"

                        "Oh..." Sherlock turned away slightly, which John tried to read. Was he blushing? "I knew rather strongly when you actually showed up to view the flat, that there was some important bond, it was later however," He froze, fighting himself. John saw the vulnerability creep onto his face, it made him worry that he was pushing too far too fast. He started to say that he didn't need an answer but Sherlock actually smiled again. "When you saved me from my own stubbornness after knowing me for such a short time, I knew it was something potentially dangerous." His smile slipped and it was clear he didn't like how exposed he felt. He quickly changed his look and added: "We certainly could have had _a lot of fun_ at the Queen's expense." The heat in the way he said it crept straight into John's body, sending shivers up and down his spine.

            John snorted, inhaling his tea. He had been so focused on hearing the moment Sherlock had realized he felt something for him, that he had been blindsided by the second statement. A long silence followed their statements as both of them tried to wrap their minds around what was happening. Sherlock reached out and put his hand next to John's, instigating slight contact. John took the chance and stared at him, tracing every line of his face into his mind. They both sat there letting silence fall around them until a car door slamming outside jolted them both out of their thoughts. Suddenly Sherlock swept up out of his chair and into the living room, scooping up a book as he did. John recognized the move instantly and knew Lestrade was on his way inside. He tried to fix himself with an amused smirk so as to circumvent the laughter trying to burst forth from his chest as Sherlock assumed his standard 'Go away, I'm ever so busy' routine. Lestrade entered the flat through the front, sweeping in front of John's view to the side of Sherlock.

                        "When I said later, I meant much later. Potentially never, really." Sherlock said calmly, in his normal tone. He didn't even look up at the Detective Inspector as he came to a rest near him.

                        "Sherlock, You promised." Lestrade said sternly, hands clenched at his sides. "You don't even know what the case is." The familiar sound of stress and tension in Lestrade's voice almost made John laugh. The poor man, Sherlock never cut him a break.

                        "I don't care, Lestrade." Sherlock looked at one of the pages and flicked it. It was then John realized he was looking over some form of the Kama sutra. He choked on tea again, noting the small smirk that caught the edge of Sherlock's lips. So Sherlock was purely showing off just for him.

                        "Oh, John!" Lestrade said suddenly, turning to look at him. "How are you feeling?" He moved into the kitchen. Sherlock dropped into John's chair, throwing his legs over the arms and continuing to flick through his book, continuing to appear busy.

                        "Aside from half drowned in this cup of tea, I'm... Getting there." John proffered, trying to actually drink his tea this time.

                        "I'm glad..." Lestrade said it awkwardly and John's face tightened. So Lestrade had known the truth at least longer than he had known it himself. Sherlock shook his head ever so slightly and John clenched his jaw.

                        "What's the case?" John asked, reaching a hand out for the file.

                        "It's nothing tied to..." Lestrade paused, not entirely sure how to label the situation, "It's nothing very adventurous. It's just a double homicide that we can't seem to quite..."

                        "The two women were both lovers of the owner of the jewelry store broken into last week." Sherlock added with a disappointed sigh. "They got into a fight and one of them shot the other. The shooter was then killed by their lover in a fit of passionate rage. I told you that last week, Lestrade. Or have you been listening to Anderson again?" Sherlock's tone was abrasive. Making it clear that this interruption was very unwelcome.

            John felt a blush rise on his cheeks, realizing that Sherlock was clearly being rude as he felt slighted that his alone time with John had been interrupted. He cleared his throat, leaving behind the barely eaten biscuits. He took the file and flicked through the information. He looked over the images of the two women and the crime scenes they were found in, though it caused his stomach to flip. As he was just about to closely inspect one of the images, the file was snapped out of his hand and thrust back into Lestrade's. John was taken aback by the anger on Sherlock's face.

                        "John is not ready to come back to work yet and until my _partner_ is fully capable of handling the inadequacies of the Scotland Yard we are officially OFF duty." His eyes cooled significantly and looked almost dangerous. Lestrade was taken aback but nodded.

                        "Alright Sherlock, I get it. You don't have to be a bloody jerk about it. I'll have Sally look into it." Lestrade turned and strode out of the flat.

                        "You do that." Sherlock added, moving to pick up his violin and then stopping. John was watching him as if he would vanish. It unnerved him. As soon as the bottom door slammed he let his attention focus on John. "What?" He asked softly, betraying his confusion.

                        "Did you just tell off Lestrade so you could be alone with me?" He asked with a smirk, stepping closer to Sherlock.

                        "John," He clicked his tongue. "You need to rest and to eat properly. Don't start something you aren't ready to finish." He grinned with pure desire and then picked up his violin. He did a few strokes across the strings to warm up before turning to look John directly in the eyes. "You had better clean up, we're going to dinner tonight." Without another word, Sherlock began to play John's favorite tune, not seeing the tears that fell as John turned back to clean up the kitchen.


	3. Real First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is still wary of danger but Sherlock, trying to fix things, asks him on a date.

Sherlock kept playing as John cleared away breakfast and continued tidying up. John felt ashamed of the state of the flat, knowing that he had put no effort into things because he felt he'd had no reason. He also felt fear that somehow this was going to prove to still be a dream or some figment of his own imagination. It seemed having Sherlock there gave him a burst of energy that he had not had in ages, so he capitalized on it to continue his work. After John finished the kitchen and began straightening the living room, Sherlock abandoned the violin instead moving about so he was close to John. At first the action seemed to tell John that Sherlock was desperate to be near him, but it became clear to him quickly that Sherlock was supervising him. He began to grow agitated, feeling hemmed in. When he crossed the living room and Sherlock moved to sit in his chair, he finally spoke up.

                        "You could help, you know!" He snapped as his anger got the better of him.

                        "You have such an excellent command of the task, I would hate to interrupt you." It was clearly an attempt to tease but it riled John. He turned and abandoned his task in the living room, instead moving his bedroom. Before he could fully register the switch Sherlock was on his heels, following him into the room.

            John ran his tongue over his teeth in clear agitation, his entire face tightening with emotion. It wasn't that he didn't want Sherlock close, no quite the opposite was true. He desperately wanted to be close to Sherlock in a way that was almost purely indecent. His thoughts straying to _that_ bare chest, _those_ lips. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face, determined to not let Sherlock off easily just because they shared such chemistry. No, he felt like Sherlock was implying he was helpless, something that though John felt was the truth he desperately didn't want Sherlock to believe. Above all he wanted Sherlock to see him as strong and capable. He wanted to erase the memory of how pitiful he must have seemed the night before, lying on the couch in the dark. His shame became anger however, so he channeled it slamming around his room as he placed things back in their rightful places with loud thuds.

                        "Why are you so angry?" Sherlock asked softly, leaning against the wall near the door. His voice cutting straight through John's angry internal mutterings.

                        "I'm not." Tongue click, arms crossed, _that_ look - _Don't lie_. "Because, Sherlock," He said his name with a huge wave of emotion behind it, "I don't know what the _hell_ you are doing." Sherlock went to reply but John cut him off. "You're following me around like I need a nanny! It makes me feel helpless. I've done things on my own for a year! A YEAR! I am capable of moving about the flat and looking at case files on my own!" Sherlock snorted slightly, clearly not agreeing with him.

                        "You are quite capable of moving about the flat, as you have been for several hours now. But you haven't really done things well, have you?" Sherlock realized almost as soon as he finished the statement that he likely should not have said it, but he didn't take it back. Instead his face tightened to show that he knew the wrongness, but he didn't soften at all - his anger and defenses also rising.

            John felt himself flush with shame as the feelings tore through his anger and revealed a terribly tender part of himself. He sank down on the bed, disbelief clear on his face. He knew Sherlock was not a person to sugar coat his words but the effect of his words, cutting down to the bone, truly hurt John in that moment. John refused to look up at Sherlock as he fought the wave of emotion clawing at his chest. Guilt, fear, shame, and more anger struggled to find their way to the surface to be expressed. The moment stretched out before John responded.

                        "Wow, yea." He snapped as his temper tried to cover his battered ego. He bounced his leg rapidly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Thank you Sherlock, for reminding me of how I have failed!" He snapped his eyes up to Sherlock's, theirs meeting and Sherlock almost buried under the amount of pain and anger in John's gaze. It unsettled him, knowing that he was the reason this man was feeling so many conflicting feelings. "I'm so sorry that the fact that I have feelings for you ruined..." John started panting hard and Sherlock realized that if he didn't do something to quell John's anger, John would descend into another set of flashbacks.

                        "You didn't fail John," _That_ tone again, full of emotion and pain. The tone that cut right through John's anger. John let a few angry tears fall without fighting them, trying to let the emotion free. "You did the best you could with the mess I left you in." He dropped his arms from his chest, trying to calm his own anger. He understood their anger would be explosive potentially leading them down a road that could ruin everything. So he softened slightly, fighting the guilt and shame just as strongly as John but without as much command over the experience. "But don't you _get_ it, John? I..." _Think I love you_. He bit back the words afraid of what they meant to both of them. Afraid to let that much sentiment out into the world just yet. He sighed heavily and changed his tack. "What happens if you get hurt?!" There was a sort of desperate quality hidden behind his angry tone that made John sag. John returned his gaze to the floor fighting another wave of shame and trying to calm his anger.

                        "We have fought so many battles side by side, Sherlock. If you had babysat me all the time like you are now we never would have even had the chance. You like that I take risks, that's part of why you chose me as your flatmate. If I had taken the peaceful and easy way out you would have died before we solved our very first case." John sighed as his shoulders sagged under the weight of the emotional burden he was carrying. "It's just... I already feel helpless enough without Mycroft and now you constantly reminding me of how I have failed."

            Ah, so they'd reached a point of John's feelings. Obviously the visits had irritated John just as much as Mycroft. Also apparent to Sherlock was that Mycroft's behavior had not been any better than John's in the most recent series of visits. Sherlock paused as his mind absorbed the details of the scene before him.

John was tight, rigid. Tension filled his entire body but there were no twitches or spasms. Just pure tension - _anger hiding something deeper, likely shame_.

His shoulders and body language sagged however, each point of vulnerability seeming to weaken his defenses more - _dissolving under the weight of emotion, no release_.

John's eyes dulled as he tried not to feel the pain but they radiated his truth. Everything about him screamed - _Don't look at me like this, I'm better than this. I can be strong for you. I'll protect you this time._

 _What did I do to deserve this man feeling like this for me_?

                        "The visits were my doing." Sherlock sighed and started pacing. John's face tightened as his mouth resumed the tight lipped, straight faced grumpy look he was trying to maintain. More explanations were not at all what he wanted right now. "I was of course concerned about you and how you were getting on after everything. So when Mycroft informed me that some of his surveillance was no longer working due to your lack of leaving the flat, I asked him to begin looking in on you. I needed more information on how you were and whether or not you truly believed I was gone. I needed a way to check in on you without coming close enough to tip off those still lying in wait." John's anger was mounting again. "I had actually hoped you and Mycroft might come to some new understanding in your grief."

                        "Sherlock, he's a bloody bastard." John's voice was cool because of his anger but they both couldn't fight the smirk as their eyes met.

                        "Yes well, I didn't think that part of the plan though all the way, obviously." He replied in a tone that was an attempt at humor, but could not mask the discontent he felt at having to concede he had not been perfect. "It was however, the only means available to me without raising new suspicion. I used his guilt, much as I imagine he used mine. He should have known better." An evil look passed across Sherlock's face but faded quickly. "I convinced him to visit you, to be nice to Mrs. Hudson, even to send Lestrade on vacation. Though I have no qualms about admitting that he chose not to listen to my suggestions about takeaway." Sherlock had said it to be sweet, trying to show John that he'd looked after him even while he was away; but the effect was opposite. John felt panic rise in his chest along with a need to run. His breath hitched as his body contemplated the ways he could escape the amount of emotion he was currently feeling.

                        "This is, mad." He said angrily, jumping to his feet. "I feel like I'm going to wake up in hospital somewhere in a white coat." He started moving about the room again trying to find something to focus on. His mind raced and he began rummaging through his closet sorting the clothes inside it. Without thinking he began to plan an outfit for dinner before a sudden realization hit him. Sherlock stood still where he had been, arms at his sides and eyes following John's every move. His eyes were focused and intent, scanning every action for meaning. John reached into his dresser and pulled out a pair of pants before freezing. Sherlock hadn't _asked_ him to dinner, he'd _told_ him that he was going to go. Ordering him about as if he was incapable of making decisions. A distraction. "Sherlock," He didn't turn but his back straightened, setting Sherlock on the defensive. "You're still hiding something."

                        "Don't be stupid." Sherlock responded almost immediately, setting off alarm bells in John's mind. John rounded him, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him hard into the wall.

                        "Damn it Sherlock, no more games!" He slammed him again. "You don't order me around unless you're trying to distract me!" Sherlock felt two entirely conflicting emotions well up inside him as John pushed him harder into the wall, pinning him in place. His eyes widened as he let both sensations take their course, but the change had no affect on John's temper.

                        "John, you aren't behaving rationally." He kept his voice calm, despite feeling strong emotion internally.

                        "There is nothing to be rational about!" He yelled, quite loudly. Most of his anger was at himself, but he channeled it into his words and actions. He was angry with himself for almost giving into the normalcy he desperately craved without seeing the warning signs. "You were dead. All of sudden you're not! You were disconnected and then I find out you made Mycroft come to see me! You're acting like everything is fine and trying to use my desperation to have you back to hide something! After everything!" His grip on the front of Sherlock's shirt was so tight, there was no way Sherlock could get away. His knuckles digging slightly into Sherlock's chest, amplifying the various feelings Sherlock was having. John's face was so full of the anger Sherlock had expected yesterday but now today it hurt. He'd let himself believe it didn't exist. But now it was also laced with something far darker, with something that made Sherlock ache inside in a way he'd never wanted to feel. Betrayal. It screamed, _you dare keep secrets, now_? It demanded to know how Sherlock could stand there feeling those things and still keep secrets from John. _How can you love me but hide from me?_ Sherlock let himself soften his eyes betraying the change as he silently admitted that John was right. That John was well within his rights to feel as he did, though Sherlock didn't like it. He slowly slid his hands up onto John's trying to loosen John's grip on his shirt. He felt John relax just a little as John tried to accept that Sherlock was trying to change, to accept this new relationship.

                        "I told you, you're in danger." He fought not to click his tongue impatiently, knowing it would make things worse. "It's going to be even worse now. Mycroft instructed the Yard to release the news that I am still alive this morning. They put out an article in all of the newspapers. The article revealed an arrest they recently made, tied to our case. The arrest that shows how _he_ set up this entire thing. That he fabricated that story about me and that his web extends well beyond that one moment. We found one of the snipers he hired to target those I care for. Between Lestrade, Mycroft, and myself we were able to pin down that the spider is dead but the web lingers. Someone new is pulling the strings, following some plan he left behind. A plan that puts you more at risk than anyone else. That is why I was going to stay away, so there would be no connection for you to me. But..." His face tensed and John realized he was about to tell him something he'd not revealed to anyone else yet. "I don't think it would matter, I think you're already a target because you were already important to me." He sighed softly, looking down. "That's what changed and why I came back. Because I know now the only place I can protect you, is beside you." He tightened his hands over John's, trying to ground himself in the moment. "I know how he..."

                        "You're not like him!" John shouted in a low angry whisper that was full of emotion. His grip relaxed but did not release Sherlock. After which Sherlock allowed himself to meet his eyes again. They both were silent for a moment as if catching their breath.

                        "But I know how he _thinks_." Sherlock emphasized. He desperately wanted John to think for the moment and not feel. To understand what he was trying to say.

                        "Thought!" John hissed as his hands shook against Sherlock's chest. John felt the panic again. A desperation clawing at his chest. Sherlock realized what was happened and pulled John to him holding him close in a tight embrace.

                        "Yes, thought." He whispered. His mouth right next to John's ear, pressing John tightly into his body. "He is gone, John. But the danger isn't. His work, isn't. I _need_ you safe, John." Shivers ran through John's body, both from the feeling of Sherlock's voice and breath on his ear and from the terrible fear that seemed to awaken in his bones. He swallowed hard and tried to find his strength, tried to find the resolve that had disappeared from him for so long.

                        "Then let me help. Let me in." He almost pleaded. "Please." The words were so soft, so needy. John felt panic that Sherlock would be overwhelmed and turn away, but Sherlock understood that this moment was a test. If he could stand up and be strong, to be caring in this moment when John's fear was forcing him to run away from everything - they could get through anything. He let his body soften more as John was pressed against him, showing John that he wasn't going anywhere. His hands wound their way under John's t-shirt and jumper long cool fingers pressing into John's warm flushed skin. John inhaled sharply just biting back a moan.

                        "I'm trying John. I am. You're not the only one haunted by that day," His voice was so different in this moment, revealing so much to John about the man who claimed he never felt. John's mouth parted slightly as he let the words, touches, and tones sink into his body. "I may have been at the top of that building but I could see your face. I could hear the way your voice shook." Another breath caught in John's chest, followed another tremor. The touch on his skin deepened, pressing with gentle firmness against him. "Stay in this moment with me, John. Feel my skin against yours." Gentle but firm commands that flew right in the face of John's anxiety and slow cooling anger. The touch swept up his back making the embrace stronger and short circuiting John's brain. "I'm trying to make everything right again John, but I know now I can't do that alone. I need you. You are what makes me, me." His voice was barely audible as he admitted something so deeply personal. John felt how the words wrapped around his heart. It was so much stronger than four little letters. It was terrifying and beautiful. It was all he'd ever wanted and yet it scared him to death. But he wasn't alone in those feelings. He could hear them in Sherlock's uneven breath, feel them in the tiny tremors than shook under Sherlock's skin, sense it in the gaze that was looking over the top of his head. The anger bled away quickly leaving a raw ache behind.

                        "Sherlock, I..." He whispered, his voice cracking with his emotion. Sherlock realized he was going to apologize. He was going to ask for forgiveness for feeling, something Sherlock needed more from him than he could understand.

                        "Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for." It was a final tone, an end to the discussion.

            They remained locked in the embrace as silence fell, both of them unwilling to let go. Both of them thinking and feeling a thousand things and hardly daring to breath for fear of proving them to be imagined. After a long time, Sherlock finally spoke again but his voice was still a soft whisper against John's ear.

                        "John Watson, may I take you to dinner?" John groaned as Sherlock shifted, leaning back against the wall. But he moved only to meet John's eyes and watch him as he answered Sherlock's inquiry, his fingers still tracing small circles over John's back.

                        "Sherlock, are you asking me on a date?" John's voice was still soft but a smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

                        "Yes, a date." The click of the tongue. "You know it's that thing where two people who like each other go out and have fun." He retorted impishly, not able to stop his own smirk from breaking free.

                        "Git." John spoke but didn't move.

                        "Is that a yes?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

                        "Yes, Sherlock you may take me to dinner tonight." John smiled before pulling Sherlock to him. Their mouths met for a heated kiss, John taking dominance as he pulled Sherlock even closer against him. He wound his hands under Sherlock's shirt, pushing it up so that he could access the whole of his back, causing Sherlock to moan in such a needy way it shot straight to John's groin. The kissed deepened as they struggled slightly for control of the moment. Sherlock gently digging his nails into John's back - his tongue darting out to dance with John's.

            John's mind reeled from the overwhelming sensation of Sherlock's nails on his back and their tongues intertwining. John's body clearly gave away how much he was enjoying the sensations and Sherlock found himself quite pleased to note that it was his touch, his kisses that were driving John to distraction. He increased his efforts moving from John's lips to suckle on the spot where his neck and shoulder met, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure from his _lover_ as he worked. John was threatened to be overwhelmed with the sensation and the ache in his hips intensified. He roughly pulled Sherlock back, pushing him into the wall and kissing him so hard Sherlock almost lost his breath. They continued to struggle for control, Sherlock spinning John and shoving him into the wall as he kissed and nipped at John's lips, using his hips to pin John in such a way he simply melted into Sherlock's control. The kiss continued to intensify in a way that was threatening to pull them into wonderfully terrifying territory before being interrupted by a voice calling up the stairs.

                        "Sherlock?" It was Mrs. Hudson, her tone clearly showing a bit of frustration. Sherlock laughed quietly at the look on John's face. John was panting for breath and really not interested in seeing Sherlock walk away from the moment. Sherlock pushed his hips into John again, pinning him back against the wall.

                        "Just a moment!" He smirked, slowly extracting his hands from John's shirt, but wrapping one tightly in his hair. "It's half one now, we're leaving for dinner before seven. I will be downstairs if you need me." Sherlock pulled on John's hair hard, kissing him and gently biting his bottom lip before pulling away. He gave John a simmering stare and then fixing a smile on his face bounded downstairs to talk to their land lady.

            John fell back against the wall, having tried to keep Sherlock from leaving. His brain was foggy and focused on the aching need growing in his hips. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to encourage the blood to return to his brain, while one finger trailed over his lips. He shivered and almost moaned as images of the last few minutes passed through his mind. He was far more affected by Sherlock's dominance than he wanted to admit.

 _That bloody mouth_.

            He became vaguely aware of the conversation floating up the stairs, something about the new gaggle of reporters that had shown up outside the flat following the Yard's article. It took several minutes for John to regain full control of his body and he forced himself back to his original goal of straightening his room. He sorted through his wardrobe finding an outfit that would be suitable for dinner and wouldn't look like he was wearing clothes ten sizes too big for him. He licked his lips and moaned again, still tasting Sherlock on them. His mind and nerves were already behaving like a teenage boy, not a promising start to his first actual date with Sherlock Holmes. He gathered the things he needed and showered and shaved. He put on his outfit, hoping to use the rest of the afternoon to feel comfortable in it again. After spending twenty minutes fussing with his hair he gave up and made his entrance into the living room. Sherlock was playing the violin but opened his eyes to survey John and gave him a purely indecent look before returning to his music. Mrs. Hudson was sitting in John's arm chair drinking a cup of tea. When John met her eyes he forced himself not to blush but smiled quite sheepishly.

                        "Look at that smile!" She gushed. "It's been ages!" She laughed quite happily and though Sherlock now had his back to them John was quite sure he was smirking.

                        "Oh, go on." John tried to dismiss it but she just laughed more. "Thank you Mrs. Hudson, for everything." He said softly sinking down on the couch and gently touching her arm. She looked pleasantly surprised but smiled.

                        "Oh it was nothing dear. I'm only happy to help." She smiled softly and sank back.

            Sherlock continued playing for awhile pretending he wasn't pleased that both John and Mrs. Hudson were thoroughly enjoying his music. John found himself lingering over Sherlock as he played, watching how each muscle moved underneath the dark grey shirt he was wearing. Lingering over the shape and movement of his fingers across the strings, the way his eyes lit up when he opened them and how his face looked almost angelic when he had them closed. His attention so focused on Sherlock that nothing else seemed to matter. Mrs. Hudson eventually returned downstairs leaving the two of them in the slowly settling silence of the flat as Sherlock finished playing. John waited to see if he would speak once he settled down on the couch next to him, but he said nothing. After a few minutes John felt it was safe to bring up some of the concerns that had come to mind when he'd gotten into the shower.

                        "Sherlock, the reporters are going to follow us everywhere now." John's voice betrayed his concern and his pending disappointment that their date may have to be cancelled.

                        "Oh, I've thought of that already. Angelo has a small room he uses for private situations. He's going to have it prepared for us before we arrive." A small smirk toyed with the corners of his mouth, but his eyes fixated on John's every movement.

                        "You would pick there." John licked his bottom lip and noticed how the action seemed to draw Sherlock's attention. "What now?"

                        "When did you get the letter?" Sherlock asked, reaching across him to the table and picking up the letter from The Woman.

                        "Oh," John blushed and tried to keep up with Sherlock's abrupt change in conversation. "Sometime last week. Mrs. Hudson brought it up, said it had come at a different time than the post. The envelope had something like ten countries on it."

                        "Fascinating." Sherlock's focus seemed to almost burn into the card.

                        "Do you think _her_ making contact is significant with what you already know?" John's voice just barely masked his feeling as they discussed Irene Adler, The Woman. Sherlock however actually felt his heart flutter slightly faltering a bit before recovering his calm demeanor. He'd forgotten what it was like to have someone who actually tried to keep up with him.

                        "I do actually." He blushed just slightly and John raised an eyebrow. "Oh go on." He said imitating John's earlier actions. "You know very well that I like it when you ask _smart_ questions." Sherlock clicked his tongue.

                        "I thought it was interesting that she made any sort of contact, seeing as how she was supposed to be dead." There was a darkness to the edge of John's words and Sherlock's attention was drawn back to his mouth; watching him as he spoke each syllable of each word. Was that jealousy in his tone? Why did the tone ripple through Sherlock and excite him on so many levels?

                        "Well, you knew better than that." Sherlock was actually afraid of being at a loss for words. John however seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on Sherlock.

                        "Yes, I did." Definitely jealousy. Sherlock bit his bottom lip before standing. The tension between the two of them was only growing stronger and if Sherlock didn't distract himself he couldn't promise he wouldn't cross any boundaries.

                        "There are rules for tonight John, beginning now. Rule number one - no discussing the current cases or anything involving this tangled web once we step outside the house. There are eyes and ears all around us, at least here we know whose they are." A small smirk but all seriousness. "Two we don't do anything that you are uncomfortable with." His voice betrayed just how serious he was, wanting to be sure that John understood he could say no. John however picked up something more in the way he'd said it. Picking up a revelation about Sherlock's past that he had not meant to divulge in that moment.

                        "Have you been with men before?" He asked quickly half blurting the question out and half demanding.

                        "Ah," Sherlock smirked. Not denying it but simply raising his eyebrows and watching John blush in response.

                        "So you have? I thought..." Now John was fumbling.

                        "I haven't _always_ been a consulting detective, John." The tone went straight to John's core and created a deep ache, but the statement punctured the happiness purring in John's chest. It reminded him of something Sherlock had said so long ago.

                        "That brings up the question..." John looked down and Sherlock sighed impatiently.

                        "You are part of my work, John. A very integral part, in fact." John blushed again. Sherlock smirked and pulled his mobile out to check the time.

                        "Alright, alright..." John waved his hand, slightly overwhelmed by the amount of sentiment. He sank back on the couch and flicked on the telly.

            It wasn't long before it was time to go, Sherlock going out of his way to make contact with John as they pulled on their coats and scarves. Sherlock watched every move John made with such intensity that John was surprised he hadn't melted like ice under the glare of the summer sun. John blushed as he worked, shoving his hands in his pockets in an almost grumpy way. Sherlock realized that John was attempting to disguise his body language, trying to keep their truth a secret until Sherlock told him it was alright to reveal. He felt strange as the emotion rose in him in response to John's actions. Part of him admired John's courage but another part demanded that he fling open the door, shove John against the wall and snog him senseless for all the world to see. So everyone would know that John Watson was _his_. John caught his eyes as he was thinking those thoughts and blushed quite red. The predatory heat in Sherlock's gaze almost unmade John, but he managed to keep his calm. He nodded giving Sherlock the lead and followed him downstairs and out to the road to hail a cab. As they exited, neither of them speaking they both scanned the crowd of reporters around them. John was a bit behind Sherlock as he walked, letting a comfortable distance lapse between them before approaching the stopped cab. As he looked around he caught Kitty Riley standing there bold as brass. She tried to approach John but the look on his face must have stopped her as she suddenly just froze. She gave him a superior smile and then just waved as he followed Sherlock's silent command to get into the cab.

            John wanted to speak up about Kitty but knew that Sherlock would be angry if he did. After all he'd already set the rules for their date. _I wonder what he would do if I broke them_. John coughed and looked out the window, Sherlock raising an eyebrow but not asking about the cough. Sherlock's attention was fully focused out the window on his side and John realized he was trying to absorb all the information he'd just pulled in from scanning over the reporters. When they arrived at the restaurant they were happy to note that none of the reporters seemed to have arrived there yet. Sherlock actually paid for the cab, surprising John but smirking as they entered the establishment. Angelo greeted them both very warmly, smirking slightly as he mentioned that their room was all set for them. John tried to ignore the looks from the other diners who watched them as they moved through the main portion of the restaurant, but by the time they were settled into their own private dining room he was uncomfortable and wary. He fidgeted with his silverware, staring at the table.

                        "I'm sorry - should we have stayed in?" John laughed, it felt so strange to hear Sherlock asking him for answers to questions like that.

                        "No, I haven't been out of the flat in ages. It's good for me. It's just been a long time since people stared at us on the street and the last time well..." John shrugged and looked over the menu hoping he gave off a 'I don't really mind so much, they're all jerks' impression rather than the 'I'm jealous anyone else is looking at you' one.

            There were candles and a bottle of wine on the table, clearly prepared before they'd arrived at the restaurant. Sherlock had planned this carefully, something that sent a jolt through John and caused him to blush again. The reality of the fact that John Watson was officially on a date with Sherlock Holmes settled into slowly into his mind as they both chose what they were going to pretend to eat. They sat in a comfortable but heavy silence for a long time as the weight of their thoughts seemingly bore down, forcing the air out of the room. John was suddenly all nerves and confusion, feeling like a young boy finally getting to be alone with his crush. He blushed as Sherlock's glance swept upward suddenly, catching him in the act of surveying his face. Sherlock was unable to stop the soft laugh that rose in his throat as John flushed like a guilty love struck teen.

                        "You're allowed to look at me." He said directly, there was no masking his intention either. John felt the ache in his hips grow stronger. "In fact I rather encourage it."

                        "Well it's... Been awhile since I had the luxury." John's voice was almost a whisper. Revealing how Sherlock unmade him against his own will. He blushed, shyly looking back into those eyes, so like the sea the morning after a storm. He knew that Sherlock was watching him, taking in every movement, word, and motion like he was drawing in his breath. He blushed more deeply, the intensity of focus on Sherlock's face making him feel as if he was already undressed and at his personal disposal.

                        "That is true. Though if you stare too much I may get the wrong idea." Sherlock tilted his head just so, intentionally making John blush again. Again slowly undressing him with his eyes and not bothering to hide it. John coughed and felt his body responding with enthusiasm.

                        "Sod off. You're winding me up for no reason." John looked down at the table.

                        "Am I?" John was denied a chance to answer by the waiter making an appearance. They confirmed their food choices and thanked him for their drinks. Then silence descended again. This time it was Sherlock who spoke first. "John," He paused, choosing his words carefully. A look of concentration evident on his face as he did. John fought not to finish the sentence for him, but to let him speak. "What are we now?" His voice was softer, but his eyes did not change, watching every minute movement John made as he reacted to the question.

                        "I don't care what we are, Sherlock. As long as you're here." His answer was pure and honest and Sherlock felt a host of things well up inside himself. In order to mask what he was feeling he focused his intention on sipping his wine instead of responding immediately to John's words.

                        "Do you want everyone to know?" No emotion, just a question of fact.

                        "They'll all think I'm mad won't they?

                        "Don't they already?" They laughed for a few minutes before the comfortable silence settled again, but pregnant with the weight of the unanswered question.

                        "Yes, I suppose they do. But - what do _you_ think?" Sherlock shivered a bit internally. The one question that only John could ask in such a way that it always made Sherlock giddy. It was a logical statement to ask in the moment but every time John Watson wanted to know what went on in his mind, it made him feel a desire more powerful than anything he'd ever felt.

                        "I'm torn." He said honestly, with a smirk. "There's a part of my mind that say to drag you outside and claim you as mine, right out in the road for all the world to see." His voice dropped as he finished the statement, heat burning in his eyes as they bore into John's. The statement was vague on purpose and did nothing for John's attempts to act like an adult, not a hormonal teenager. "Then there's the rational portion of my mind that urges caution."

                        "We're on a date, it's sort of obvious isn't it?" John was blushing but that was the only response he gave to Sherlock's statement. He was completely aware of his body's growing response to Sherlock's words and the desperate desire clawing at his chest.

                        "You would think so. But you must remember people have believed us to be dating since we met. So this will only continue to fuel the speculation of those whose idle mind has no room for important thoughts." John shook his head.

                        "You sound like such a prat when you say things like that. Those idle minds paid our bills for quite awhile."

                        "Lestrade gives us the cases John." Impatient click.

                        "No work at the dinner table." It was a command. Bringing eyes that simmered with heat to connect again.

                        "I wonder if you're as adept at giving orders elsewhere." Sherlock's voice was soft but commanding, challenging him. Just like that John's brain short circuited and he almost launched himself across the table. Sherlock's eyebrow raised as he watched the effect his words had on John. John reached for his beer and sipped it slowly, trying to keep his mind from following Sherlock's into the passionate inappropriateness he was leading him towards. He'd found himself thinking about that very scenario quite a bit throughout the day and he wasn't sure he was quite ready to find out the answer. Sherlock took another sip of his wine before adding: "Though something tells me the opposite is true." He whispered it so softly John almost missed it. He turned very red and suddenly found a spot on the wall to be very fascinating, choking slightly on his beer.

                        "Well that's..." _Come on John, don't be a fool_. "Not something you will find out on the first date." John said it as firmly as possible but he was very red and almost panting. They both laughed quietly, John's full of nerves and desire. Sherlock's was a low, possessive sort of primal thing that should have instilled fear in John's heart but instead shot straight through his body and set his desire alight.

            The food arrived and Sherlock settled into a more nostalgic conversation as they ate. Backing off and giving John room to recover and loosen back up. Both of them ate very little, but John put forth a rather good attempt to eat - something that seemed to please Sherlock greatly. Sherlock took some time to explain about several cases he'd worked on with Lestrade and how none of them had been worth getting out of bed over. He also explained that he'd stayed with Mycroft during his time away, something that awoke a great curiosity in John. Sherlock however, refused to elaborate saying only they would discuss it another time. The conversation turned to reminiscences and nostalgia before Sherlock began bargaining with John about when they could discuss returning to work. John conceded that he missed it but asked Sherlock to give him a few more days. Secretly he just wanted time alone with Sherlock, but he knew that keeping Sherlock locked up at home would lead him to go insane.

                        "Yes, since we are on the subject - I must continue to break your rule of no work at the table and ask you something of crucial importance. Especially to me." A tremble ran through John's body as Sherlock spoke, but John fought the alcohol that muddled his brain to focus. Words tumbling free of his mouth before he could stop himself.

                        "Anything for you." It was a whispered statement but full of meaning.

                        "Oh, I know _that_." Pure desire causing the heat to skyrocket through John's body yet again, "No this is something about work. I want you to become my full time assistant. I know that the financial aspects of what happened left you quite well off, even with the required recompense for my being alive. So, since money is no longer a factor for you - I need you. I need your expertise and your mind beside me at all times." There was something about the way he asked that mixed John up inside. He wasn't just asking about work, he was asking John to never leave his side.

                        "I would love to." John responded softly, looking down.

                        "We should go out like this more often." Sherlock smirked.

                        "We should go home." John laughed and Sherlock mocked surprise.

                        "That sounds very promising." Sherlock winked and stood, he waited for John helping him back into his coat and gently brushing his skin on his neck as he did. John blushed but made no other response.

            Before John really had a grasp on things they were back at 221B and the doors closed on the reporters screaming questions at them outside. Just inside the door John grabbed Sherlock and threw him into the wall gently, kissing him with intense fervor. Sherlock grinned and broke the kiss, watching John carefully.

                        "Thank you for a lovely evening Sherlock." John whispered.

                        "It was my pleasure." His eyes sparkled. "You're mine, John." He flipped them, pushing John into the wall. "Pure and simple. I will fiercely guard what is mine, don't take those words lightly."

                        "I have no intentions of ever belonging to anyone else." His voice was a whisper. His mind told him to go to bed before he pushed himself further than he was ready for. "Goodnight Sherlock." John pushed him up, kissing him one last time before they moved up the stairs.

                        "See you in your dreams." He whispered in his ear, pulling his hair gently.


	4. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness is threatening at every turn - John still doesn't see it and with Sherlock acting a bit childish it threatens to overwhelm them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes mention of some violence (a bit graphic) and a lot of angst. 
> 
> All mentions of Irene Adler will be done in one of three ways:  
> 1) Her text/note/memo sign off will be TW  
> 2) Sherlock, John, and Mycroft will refer to her using emphasized gender specific terms: /her/, /she/, /The Woman/ - this is in keeping in line with the statement John made to Mycroft at the end of Incident in Belgravia stating that Sherlock referred to her only as 'The Woman'  
> 3) If she is in the scene then her name will be used.

            Incredible warmth, the feeling of a hard but somewhat yielding _something_ against him, and a deep breath that sent shivers through his body greeted John when he slowly felt himself come awake. He was surprised as he listened to the slow, rhythmic breathing. It was the first time in a very long time that he'd slept so soundly that nightmares hadn't woken him. He knew that pattern of breath before he even opened his eyes. He'd listened for it so many nights, trying to be sure Sherlock was actually asleep and not just pretending. He almost didn't want to get out of the bed, but he knew he needed to before his back started to cramp. He wondered what had happened during the night that had drawn him so close to Sherlock's body, but didn't pull away. It took him some time to realize an arm was thrown around him and he was cuddled against Sherlock. The embrace was so comfortable and warm, John couldn't be sure he'd ever be tempted to actually leave bed again. Sherlock shifted slightly, tightening his arm around John as he moved. John felt his breath catch.

                        "Did you have to?" A soft question asked by a voice thick with sleep. He shivered slightly. Sherlock's voice was deeper when he first woke but his tone was clearly a complaint.

                        "What?" John sat up slightly, not removing Sherlock's arm but finally opening his eyes to survey their situation. Sherlock was fully dressed, still in his clothing from the night before. A clear sign his mind was still working in "case" mode. As if to accentuate John's deduction a case file lay open on Sherlock's chest but half the pages were now on the floor. He'd fallen asleep without intending to. John blushed as he realized that Sherlock had come into his room after he'd fallen asleep to again be sure he was safe from his nightmares.

                        " _Think_." Sherlock whispered, slowly opening his eyes. "I was so comfortable until the noise of you thinking woke me up." John snorted.

                        "How did my silent thinking wake you up?" John didn't move, looking down at Sherlock from his raised position. The effect of it very clearly put John in a dominant position and sent shock waves through both of them. Sherlock groaned softly pretending it was dislike of being awake. But John knew it was because he found their proximity arousing, he knew because he felt it too.

                        "It always does," He said gruffly, giving him a tongue click as he let his mind come back into the waking world. He opened his eyes, letting them lock onto John's with his intensely passionate and yet hidden need burning into John's soul.

                        "When did you sleep last?" John asked still in his quiet sleepy voice. He couldn't stop himself as he reached forward and gently pushed those curly locks off Sherlock's cheeks, caressing his cheek slowly as he moved.

                        "Oh, it was rather recently," He answered softly, almost dismissively. John laughed; it was a low, soft laugh that made Sherlock grin despite himself. John knew him too well.

                        "I thought so." John sat up to stretch, revealing his naked chest. He seemed to be blissfully unaware of how Sherlock almost drank in every movement he made as he stretched but did not pull away. He made a motion to get out of bed but Sherlock grabbed him, throwing him back down and kissing him deeply.

                        "If you don't stop being so _damn_ fascinating I'm going to have to tie you up and ravage you senseless." John groaned loudly, trying to grab Sherlock and prolong the kiss but he was already out of John's reach.

                        "Is that some sort of promise?" John said quirking an eyebrow. He was amused by what felt like teasing between them. He lay back as if content in some victory he believed he'd gotten.

                        "Do not _challenge_ me." John wanted to groan again as Sherlock said it with a predatory growl and clear intent. There was some very threatening darkness in his words, but instead of putting the fear in John it only encouraged him.

                        "It's good to know you're still attracted to me after my miserable showing last night." John's smirk didn't slip as he got up to get dressed, wearing only his boxers.

            Sherlock swept from the room, well aware he was dangerously close to losing control again. He heard John laughing, which angered him slightly. John didn't realize how close Sherlock was to proving to him that Sherlock Holmes did not take prisoners. John seemed to realize something was wrong when Sherlock didn't return and hastily gathered his things to get ready to face the day. As Sherlock moved through the living room towards his own room to change his eyes fell on the card sent by _her_. A strange feeling rose in his chest and without a second thought he slipped the card into his pocket. He then headed to his room and went about his morning routine. John took a shower and got dressed before setting the kettle to boil. Just as it finished Sherlock returned to the living room dressed in fresh clothes and obviously agitated. John knew he'd been wrong and steeled himself to apologize.

                        "Sherlock, I'm sorry if I was being a git. I was just teasing. I didn't realize you were being serious." John said softly, stepping into the living room.

                        "It's alright John, well it's not but you know what I am trying to say." Sherlock snapped quickly, somewhat irritated at having to explain himself. He softened some however, moving closer to John. "I just don't think you understand how strongly you affect me." They were very close together, mouths only a small space apart. The heat burning in both their eyes as their gazes locked. "It has been a long time since I felt so dangerously close to losing control and taking something I so desperately want."

                        "At least it proves you are still _human_." A voice cut through their moment and both of them snapped their heads to the side to look. "What a wonderful show of affection, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt." _Mycroft_ and his usual smirk.

                        "What do _you_ want?" Sherlock growled as he stepped away from John.

                        "I'm just going to finish the tea…" John said quickly, moving towards the kitchen and away from what felt like a very tense standoff between the Holmes brothers. "Mycroft would you like some?" John asked out of automatic politeness, but trying to diffuse the tension.

                        "I don't." Sherlock snapped.

                        "Too bad," John replied almost instantly.

                        "Thank you John, that's most kind of you – but I have to decline. I've only come by for a moment." Mycroft turned to Sherlock watching him closely.

            John entered the kitchen and finished preparing tea, sighing as he did. They were already almost out of milk, again. What did Sherlock do with it? He mused for a moment and then decided that might not actually want to know the answer to that. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't speak as John finished up in the kitchen. Something that both John and Sherlock caught onto rather quickly. He returned to the living room setting down a cup of black tea for Sherlock and sitting down on the couch with his own. The movement was clear. John was trying to show Mycroft a different side of things. Mycroft was surprised to see John offer up his chair so easily but took the seat less out of desiring it and more out of attempting to continue this new path John was trying to cut.

                        "What's going on then?" John cut straight to the point. Mycroft had to concede that he was at least good at sticking to the facts. "Don't try to say this was just a friendly visit. You were just here and we all know you only come to visit so quickly when something has happened. Especially when you come personally," There was curtness to John's words but much less than there had been on any other occasion. Mycroft was somewhat moved by the extra effort at congeniality that John was putting forth and in that one moment he understood that Sherlock and John had a bond that he didn't exactly like but that Sherlock desperately needed.

                        "Two things brought me here today. The first of which is the easiest dealt with." He placed his arms on the rests of the chair. "I have come to understand you received some sort of communication from someone _we_ long thought dead." He crossed his hands over the top of his umbrella, leaning forward. His attention completely focused on John. Mycroft did nothing to mask his intentions or his meaning and John was somewhat flustered.

                        "Oh, yes." John leaned forward and sorted through the small stack of papers on the table with a furrowed brow. "It was right here." He continued looking as his confusion grew. Mycroft looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked out the window and when he turned back there was a clear but unspoken conversation between the brothers. John raised his eyes from the table to Sherlock, who was looking firmly at Mycroft and did not see the look that passed on John's face. Mycroft however, did not miss it and asked his brother a silent question, raising his eyebrows.

_You're going to give up this for a ghost?_

                        "What did it say?" Mycroft continued on, turning his eye back to John. John sighed.

                        "It was just a simple note about not giving up hope." His voice was dismissive of the content, but it took him some considerable effort to erase his feelings from his expression. He sank back, picking up his tea as he did. "I must have tossed it when I cleaned yesterday." Mycroft was surprised as he saw John's face become devoid of his emotion on the subject. John's tone was clear that he knew full well the card had not been tossed. Mycroft knew John would never have thrown something like that away, something they both knew Sherlock would have wanted. No, he _knew_ where the card was. He also knew it meant something more. Mycroft continued watching John closely for another minute as they all fell silent. He was surprised at how far John was willing to go, even now, to keep things peaceful. How it hurt him more than anything but he kept his tone even, his emotion from his face as Sherlock turned to survey him. That he just accepted that Sherlock had lied. Even Sherlock seemed somewhat surprised by it.

                        "It is of little consequence to have the physical document." John furrowed his brow, why was Mycroft being so _nice_? "She has made contact with more than just you. And though it is vague communication I believe her intention is simply to establish her presence." He gave his signature smirk as he turned his attention back to Sherlock. John returned to his tea, happy to have the scrutiny removed from himself. "Sherlock, I'm afraid I must pry you away from your happy reunion and send you to Scotland Yard today. It seems _we_ have found leads on the second sniper." Sherlock's attention returned immediately to the room and John's heart sunk slightly. So that was the real reason. Sherlock back to work, back on the case of Moriarty. He set his cup down with a loud clink and the stood. Without a word he walked into the kitchen.

                        "How?" Sherlock demanded.

                        "It was simple really. Don't concern yourself with the how. Concern yourself with the capture." Mycroft's tone was angrier and more forceful than usual. "Sherlock," He waited until John had the tap running. He stood and moved close to Sherlock speaking in a dark whisper. "Do you really wish to test him like this, so soon? Are you that much of a fool?"

                        "Do not tell me how to live my life, Mycroft." The coolness was unmistakable.

                        "Go to the Yard as soon as you are able. Good day." Mycroft nodded and stepped away from Sherlock and walked directly out of the flat.

            Sherlock stared after him for a long time until he realized John was making an extraordinary amount of noise in the kitchen. He moved to find out what was going on and John was slamming around, shoving pans and cups back into their places with as much noise as possible. He looked up and Sherlock slid into a chair at the table. Sherlock was surprised at the force with which John was working.

                        "Do you want me to stay home?" Sherlock asked in a tentative voice.

                        "No." A curt response, "It's important that we catch those responsible for the potential murders of those you care about." His tone was abrasive and cutting. Sherlock understood what was going on, though John continued to pretend everything was fine.

                        "Are you alright?" He fought the guilt, looking down at the table.

                        "Perfect," John snapped, as he shoved two pieces of toast at Sherlock. "Eat. You'll need your strength for the case." John made himself some toast and ate it slowly, not saying another word. He didn't speak again when Sherlock moved to get his coat and scarf, standing to watch him leave but not speaking. Sherlock checked to be sure he had his phone, noting John's was still on the coffee table. He hoped it meant John would remain home.

                        "If you need me you can text." Sherlock offered softly.

                        "You won't answer and I'll be fine, but thank you." His words were spoken with a coldness, "Be careful and let me know when you're on your way back." Sherlock moved to kiss John, but John moved away. He went into his room and slammed the door.

_Does he know?_

            Sherlock swept out of the flat finding that he himself was angry that John was angry. John should have known Sherlock would want the card. He grumbled it over in his mind on the cab ride to the station but found the entire situation pushed from his mind as soon as he arrived at the Yard. Lestrade already waiting to meet his cab and beginning to fill him in on information immediately as the pair walked into the station.

            Back at the flat John waited until he heard the front door close before allowing himself to express anything he was feeling. He sat on his bed, looking out the window and sighed heavily. His face and body were tight with emotion as he struggled with jealousy, anger, and fear. So he did still care about her. He'd suspected that when Sherlock had asked about the card yesterday, but he'd… What? He'd hoped that Sherlock would let her go? He snorted in anger. He was being stupid. Whenever _she_ was in the picture John was insignificant and didn't matter. And now he was chasing ghosts again while he was left alone! How easy it must be for Sherlock to brush him aside! The bitterness that had surfaced after Belgravia gnawed away at his stomach making him feel a host of things he'd thought he'd dealt with. Sherlock had almost completely cut off their relationship after that, saying that having anyone close was dangerous. It had taken John months to get him to relent and accept his help again. This felt like a kick in the stomach.

                        "But he was concerned about them shooting me…" He whispered to himself, remembering each detail of the incident whether or not he really wanted to. He shook himself out of the memories. He was just being stupid. He jumped up, suddenly he feeling boxed in. He finished dressing and walked out, putting on his coat just as Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

                        "Going out dear?"

                        "Yea, we're out of milk. Again," He laughed and she smiled. "I'm just going to pop over to the grocer. Do you need anything?"

                        "No, thank you dear." She stepped in and laughed. "Your kitchen is so clean today!"

                        "Well you are our land lady, not our housekeeper!" John giggled and she patted him softly and somewhat knowingly on the arm.

                        "Where is Sherlock?" Her tone was polite but it didn't mask that she seemed to know they'd had a row.

                        "He had to go to the Yard for a case. If for some reason he comes back just let him know I went to the store." John forced a cheerfulness into his voice but it didn't reach his eyes.

                        "Of course, Dear!"

            John walked with her downstairs before taking a deep breath and walking out the door. He dodged through the reporters, noticing again that Kitty was watching him with a strange look on her face. He made it past the reporters and though he didn't need one he hailed a cab, instructing the driver to take him past the grocery and further away from the flat. The reporters didn't follow him and he sighed with relief when he got out of the cab about five blocks from the grocer and began walking. Back at Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson jumped when an envelope slid under her kitchen door. She picked it up slowly and opened it, wondering who on earth would do such a thing. She hoped it wasn't another of those hateful letters they'd received after Sherlock's 'death.' It was unlabeled beige cardstock envelope with a simple single piece of paper inside. The note said simply: Do **not** let him out of your sight Sherlock – TW. Mrs. Hudson paled slightly. She wasn't sure who TW could be, but it worried her that such a note should be slipped through her door. She picked up her phone and decided which of them to try first. She decided to try John first as he might be on his way back by now. As soon as it dialed she heard it ring from upstairs. She furrowed her brow; it was very unusual for John to forget his phone. The row between the boys must have been worse than she thought. She then tried Sherlock several times, getting no answer. She knew Sherlock was on a case and thus unlikely to check his phone for quite awhile. She checked the clock and knew that John should have been back by now. She was quite worried. She looked down, thoughtful for a moment, before spotting Lestrade's card on the fridge. She picked it up and dialed the number, barely letting him answer before she started speaking.

                        "Lestrade?" Sherlock looked up as Lestrade smiled. "Yes Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's right here with me." A pause and a frown, "No, I haven't seen John." Confusion settled deeper as he furrowed his brows. "Wait what?" Another pause, his face betraying concern, "Yes of course, I'll let him know."

                        "What?!" Sherlock demanded, standing swiftly. In one move he had his coat back on and the amount of emotion he was feeling was evident on his face. Lestrade looked even more confused for a moment before realizing that Sherlock might have finally come to terms with how he felt for John.

                        "That was Mrs. Hudson," The tongue click and a sigh. "She said John left to go to the grocer about half an hour ago. Left his phone at home," Sherlock's features tightened. The grocer was within ten minutes of the flat. All they needed was milk. "She said just a bit ago someone slipped a note under her door for you. She said it was something about watching him. She said she'd tried to call you several…" Sherlock turned on his heel, already dialing Mrs. Hudson and moving down to hail a cab. "Sherlock! I'll take you!" Lestrade came after him.

            John was glad he had the cab drop him off a bit away from the grocer, walking around a bit before making his way towards the store felt nice. It felt great to be out of the house without so much supervision; though he was sure Mycroft still had someone tailing him. He paused as he suddenly felt a prickling on the back of his neck, the feeling he got when he was being followed. He looked across the street, surveying everyone and instantly spotted a face he'd never expected to see again. He met her eyes and must have had a stupid look on his face as she shook her head just once. He blinked as if trying to prove it was his imagination and she was gone, only the normal gaggle of people passing by. He furrowed his brow in confusion, shaking himself from his momentary thoughts and turning to proceed to his destination. He bumped into someone, issuing a brief apology before suddenly keeling over face first into the pavement. His head smacking into it and cutting his forehead open. Whatever had hit him in the back of the head made him see stars and he lie there for a long moment trying to recover. Someone pulled him up, pinning his arms behind him and started pulling him down the alley. He struggled but his head ached and was foggy. Two men pushed him back and forth, kicking and punching him as they did until he sank down to his knees.

                        "The Master should keep a better eye on his pet." One of the men growled at him, shoving him into the middle of the alley. The man lunged at him and John cried out as he felt a knife blade sink into the muscles just below his clavicle on his right shoulder. He tried to fight back, several blows landing on his face as he managed to kick one of the two men in the groin. He stumbled back from the men, sinking down as the bump to the head and the blood rushing out of his shoulder wound began to overcome him. Blood ran over his eyes from his forehead but he struggled to regain his footing.

            A sudden loud noise, like a shrill whistle, startled the two men attacking him and they scattered. Silence descended on the alley as he tried to survey his wounds. His shoulder was bleeding profusely; as were his other wounds. He could feel the darkness trying to press down on him. He needed Sherlock. He shoved his hand into his pockets as best he could, trying to find his phone before he collapsed all the way to the ground. _I'm going to die here_. _At least I know how he feels._

                        "Oh John," He heard _her_ voice, close to him. He looked up at her, his vision swimming as he tried to focus. His eyes wide with fear. She stepped forward, tucking a small envelope into his jacket pocket. "How you have suffered for such a foolish man. He doesn't realize how important you are." She knelt down, beside him her voice a kind and very feeling whisper. "John, focus on me." She commanded and he found he had no choice but to. "You have to tell him that he can't take his eyes off you for a moment. Stay beside him, no matter what!" She commanded again still softly, cupping his cheek. John tried to speak. "Just nod and I will get you help. Save him from himself, John." John barely nodded as he passed out. Irene Adler stood looking over the innocent man before her. This man who loved Sherlock more than his own life, this man who would give his own blood to save him, who gave so much of himself to let him feel for her… She pulled out her phone dialing the police. She knew she was being watched and by whom, but she would not let this man come to harm. "Yes, I've just found a man who was attacked by two men with knives." She gave them the location of the alley way. "No, don't just send anyone. Send someone from Detective Inspector Lestrade's division, it's very important." She hung up. "Don't worry John, you won't die now." She whispered, snapping a picture of him before stealing away.

            Donovan was surprised when someone from dispatch called her saying that there had been a report of a man attacked and that the caller had specifically requested someone from Lestrade's division. She knew Lestrade had left with the freak, so she begrudgingly took the assignment. All anger subsided however when she found John Watson laying in a large pool of blood and in a bad way. She radioed for the ambulance and focused her entire attention on ensuring John was safe and settled in the ambulance. Once inside she called Lestrade.

            Sherlock had swept into the flat and groaned inwardly when he saw John's phone sitting exactly where it had been when he'd left that morning. Panic welled up inside of him as he stalked through the flat, as if expecting John to be sleeping or in the bathroom. He stomped loudly throughout the house, drawing Mrs. Hudson to join them upstairs. She handed Sherlock the letter both she and Lestrade watching him closely as he slipped the paper out and read it; the color draining out of his face rapidly as he turned and started down the stairs out of the flat, but he was called back by the ringing of Lestrade's mobile.

                        "Lestrade," Lestrade's face tightened almost immediately. "What?" He sighed heavily. "Donovan, Donovan! Slow down." He paced slightly. Sherlock's entire attention turned to Lestrade, which was like having the force of the sun bear down on you and you alone. Lestrade tried to focus on Donovan's words. "Where?"

                        "What happened?" Sherlock demanded his features sharp and focused. He asked it loudly, over the top of Sally speaking.

                        "Hang on Sherlock, let me get the information." Lestrade snapped. "Alright Donovan, we're on our way. No witnesses?" Another pause, "Alright, I'm not really surprised. We'll be there shortly." Lestrade turned to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. "Donovan got a call from dispatch requesting someone from my unit go to a mugging. She found John beat up pretty badly in an alley about three blocks north of the grocer. Dispatch told her the caller was a woman and that she specifically requested someone from _my_ unit. She says he's pretty bad, got a stab wound and a lot of superficial stuff. She with John at the hospital, I'll take you." Sherlock was focused but silent for a moment.

_This is my fault._

                        "Mrs. Hudson, get your coat." Sherlock commanded softly and she nodded.

            Lestrade drove them to the hospital all of three them in silence as they went, each of them processing their feelings. They were escorted quickly through the areas into John's room. Donovan was leaning on the wide window ledge, her mobile against her lips as she surveyed John with more concern than Sherlock had previously believed her capable of. John was unconscious, his left eye swollen. His entire right shoulder was bandaged and taped so that he couldn't move it, evidence of bleeding visible on the bandages. His t-shirt and jumper lay on a table to the side in evidence bags both of them obviously cut off during triage. His jacket was draped over the chair on the right side of the bed. Donovan straightened up when they entered, looking directly at Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson moved instantly to the chair, sitting down and putting her hand very gently on John's. Sherlock stood at the end of the bed looking over John, absorbing every injury he had sustained and committing it to memory. Most of the wounds were superficial, cuts and bruises. There was a clear bruise over his ribs on the right, below the bandages. His top lip was swollen and cut on the left side, his knuckles of his left hand bandaged as well. Sherlock felt the hot fiery shame and guilt that settled into his stomach, making his face take on a very dark look. Lestrade hugged Donovan slightly before they went back to being all business.

                        "Anything?" Lestrade asked softly.

                        "All we know is that he was attacked in broad daylight right in the middle of the sidewalk. The knife pierced all the way through but missed any really major structures, somehow. His other wounds are not that bad, just cuts and bruises. But the doctor is worried he has a concussion, but he was out like a light when I found him. The doctor wants to keep him at least overnight for observation. So far it doesn't seem like the reporters have gotten wind, so it's been fairly quiet here for him so far." Her voice was soft. Sherlock looked back at her, slightly confused.

                        "She was part of his detail for awhile after your… After St. Barts. She volunteered for it, actually." Lestrade said quietly.

                        "Oh. Right." Sherlock's only reply, his attention turning back to John.

\- Breath almost even, somewhat shaking - r _ib injury limiting full breath but no broken bones._

\- No swelling of the skull, eyes not bulging, skin normal color if a little pale – _no serious head trauma, but likely going to have a large headache_.

\- A peaceful expression but determined look on his face, lips moving as if speaking but no sound – _trying to say something even in his sleep._

                        "I'm concerned though Inspector, why would the caller request us specifically unless this was some sort of message?" She asked it quietly, as if avoiding a response from Sherlock but his attention was completely focused.

                        "I don't know right now Donovan. Get back to the station, start looking for leads." Lestrade said firmly. "Have dispatch trace that number, though I doubt we'll get anything."

                        "Yes Inspector." She turned and halfway to the door she stopped and looked back. "Sherlock," Donovan's raised voice snapped his attention away from John. "I don't care if your foolishness gets you hurt, but that man cares for you more than anything else. Don't let him get hurt again." Her voice was almost lethal as she walked out of the room. Sherlock was puzzled for a moment but distracted from it when a short, dark haired doctor entered the room.

                        "You must be Mr. Holmes," A doctor offered his hand which Sherlock did not take.

                        "Yes." Sherlock didn't ask how he knew. His attention now back on John.

                        "He's been muttering about you since he came in. I'm Doctor Lee; he'll be fine over all. His wounds aren't terrible." The doctor spoke very fast, obviously uncomfortable. "That shoulder wound is going to require a lot of care but we've already stitched it up. It'll likely take him awhile to be able to do anything with it. A few weeks and he'll be ready to start doing some physical therapy, but it may take up to six months for him to regain full use of it. Our records say he's a doctor, so if you'd prefer to have him released sooner rather than later I'm fine with releasing him to go home once we're sure he hasn't sustained any brain injuries. All the tests seem to suggest he's okay but without him being awake to ask, I want to keep him here overnight to be sure." The doctor was friendly and trying to lighten the look on Sherlock's face, but Sherlock didn't even look at him.

                        "Do whatever you need to," Was all he replied.

                        "Don't worry; we'll take good care of your partner. You're more than welcome to remain here overnight with him." Sherlock nodded but didn't say anything else.

            Mrs. Hudson looked up at Sherlock as he finally broke his eyes away from John and turned to look out to window for a moment. She began fiddling with the blankets; trying to be sure John was comfortably covered before settling back down into her set. He began pacing the length of the room just in front of the bed. Lestrade perched himself on the wide window ledge, watching Sherlock closely. It was clear Lestrade wasn't leaving until he felt for sure John was still safe. He watched Sherlock move, knowing the wheels were turning in his head.

                        "Linked?" Lestrade asked quietly, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts.

                        "Obviously," He snapped almost violently. Lestrade went to reply but a voice cut him off.

                        "Obviously is quite the understatement, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke softly, but in a very dark voice from the doorway. Lestrade got up not liking the look on his face.

                        "I'm going to go see if we've gotten any leads." Lestrade stepped out. Mrs. Hudson didn't look away from John, not wanting to see another row between the two brothers.

                        "Why are you here? Come to gloat?" Sherlock demanded quietly as Mycroft came to rest in front of him. Mycroft's location preventing Sherlock from his pacing.

                        "No. Regardless of how you feel about _me_ Sherlock, you are my brother and the man you love was just injured." Their tones were definitely dark. Sherlock felt angry and vulnerable and did not like Mycroft's tone.

                        "I suppose I shouldn't bother to ask _how_ you know he was injured." Sherlock's gaze was firm and the two locked eyes. Both standing perfectly firm but toe to toe, preparing for a fight.

                        "I know because _I_ didn't take my eyes off him." Mycroft sneered. Lestrade froze in the doorway having come back to say something to Sherlock. The anger passing between the brothers was like static in the air.

                        "Just what are you implying?!" Sherlock's tone was deadly, but Mycroft didn't flinch.

                        "The card, Sherlock," A smirk and a superior tone, "You took it, didn't you?"

                        "What does that stupid card have to do with this Mycroft?! Don't try my patience! It's thin enough as it is!" Sherlock was aware his emotion was showing, that he was utterly incapable of being completely rational in the moment but he didn't care. John had been hurt and he _would_ find who did it and they would _pay_.

                        "It matters tremendously. Did. You. Take. It?" Their eyes burning into each other's as they tensed neither preparing to strike a blow but both of them clearly prepared to fight.

                        "YES!" Sherlock's voice was a whisper but he raised it as if yelling. "I took the card Mycroft, it's trivial and unimportant! We're losing time!"

                        "Do you realize how incredibly _foolish_ you're being?" Sherlock could not see how the card was related to this moment and it irritated him that Mycroft had interrupted his thinking.

                        "Mycroft this is not…"

                        "But it is!" He stamped the umbrella down making a loud click. "The card itself is not important Sherlock, but have you considered the message you sent? Have you considered the unspoken ramifications of what you have done?" He demanded, his voice still quiet but perfectly clear. "Have you completely forgotten what _he_ had to go through while you were so distracted by _her_? How he suffered?" Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson attempted to remain still, both of them suddenly very aware of how explosive this situation was becoming.

                        "What are you…" Sherlock was cut off as Mycroft launched into his explanation. Mycroft could not believe how completely oblivious his brother was being.

                        "It tore him apart, Sherlock. That _Woman_ took all of your attention, your focus, your time. Completely blinding you while he fell all over himself to try and support you!" They were speaking softly but Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson could clearly hear each and every word. "When she was finally taken down I put that choice to him of what to tell you. The truth and a lie, and he chose to lie to you. Knowing just as I do that you would know clearly that he was lying. He tried because he wanted, needed you to have closure! He _needed_ you to be happy!"

                        "Mycroft shut up!" Sherlock snapped his anger very close to the breaking point.

                        "I will not! You're being foolish and you do not deserve what that man gives you. Back for two days and you find out _she_ is here and suddenly your attention is fully removed from the man who almost killed himself because of longing for you. Instead you turn your attention back to a woman who preferred you to believe she played with your feelings! And look what happened! " Mycroft's tone was actually just as dark as Sherlock's, the tension growing so tight that both Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade feared an actual physical fight would break out.

                        "You're just here to cause trouble." Sherlock said dismissively, trying to cool his own anger.

                        "For the cleverness you possess you are incredibly stupid." The remark cut and Sherlock's lip twitched. "I'm here to _prevent_ trouble. Sherlock, I believe Baker Street is no longer safe. This is evidence to support my theory. I believe that John has a bigger target on him than even you are capable of seeing. I think you are clearly incapable of protecting him on your own and as such I think you should come _home_ for the holidays."

                        "Home?!" Sherlock snorted with both anger and irate amusement. "Are you insane?"

                        "You are, if you do not do everything in your power to protect _that man_." He sighed. "Whatever _she_ was to you do not let that make you forget what he has sacrificed…"

                        "I'm perfectly aware of what he has done for me! I know he deserves better! I don't need you waltzing in here…" Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat loudly. She did it in such a way that their attentions turned from each other. She was standing beside the bed.

            They both colored slightly as their eyes fell on what Mrs. Hudson was pointing out. John was laying there, his eyes open and red clearly coloring his cheeks. His teeth were clenched and his eyes dark as he surveyed the two brothers. He was almost shaking with anger and Mrs. Hudson's look made it clear he'd heard almost their entire discussion.

                        "Mrs. Hudson, I'll take you home. We've set up a few extra patrols to keep an eye on you." Lestrade said, cutting through the silence. He moved directly over to her and nodded at John.

                        "That would be lovely. Thank you." She hugged John softly. "Get well soon. If you need anything just call." She handed him his phone.

                        "Thank you both." John said in as even a voice as he could manage as the two of them left the room. Mycroft straightened up.

                        "I am glad to see you are awake and do not seem to have any long term damage." Mycroft said softly. He was clearly trying to brush off his anger.

                        "Thanks, very kind of you. Thank you for coming and airing my entire life in front of two of my closest friends." John retorted, anger clear.

                        "John," Sherlock went to speak and John cut him off.

                        "No, please continue. Since the both of you seem to have some sort of grasp on how I feel. I'll just lie here and listen to my entire life spelled out by the god Damned Holmes brothers!" His blood pressure rose and he grunted.

                        "John, please." Sherlock said softly, moving to sit beside him. Sherlock didn't want him to be angry and in a moment John's feelings pierced the rage growing inside of him, forcing his face to become concerned and sorrow filled in an instant. John's own anger faded, seeing the truth in Sherlock's face.

                        "Sherlock, John, consider my offer. The guest house is already prepared. John, I shall check in on you soon." Mycroft nodded and exited, leaving the two of them alone. Silence fell between them as John's anger slowly cooled, his eyes burning into Sherlock as he took in every movement he made. Suddenly Sherlock felt contrary and confused.

                        "Why did you take it?" The pain in his voice was what Sherlock latched onto, slowly looking up to meet his eyes. John's eyes betrayed the deep pain he was feeling, the utter betrayal.

                        "I… I don't know." Sherlock whispered looking down.

                        "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

                        "I…" He got a pained look on his face. John knew he was struggling with some feeling, but he ached all over. It wasn't just pain from the physical attack, his heart ached.

                        "All you had to do was ask, Sherlock. I know you felt strongly for her, but this… Lie…" John shook, biting back tears. Sherlock suddenly felt like John was telling him it was over.

                        "I understand." He completely closed down and moved to pull away, not looking up to meet John's eyes again. John was just able to grab Sherlock's hand with his own, but the pain of the effort was tremendous and flashed over his face.

                        "Something tells me you don't." Sherlock stopped, not daring to believe the small feeling of hope growing in his chest. "I don't want you to leave, Sherlock. But you told me you would try not to lie to me and now you've told me a lie for the second time. Is…" Sherlock's gaze returned to John's as he slowly slipped back into the chair beside the bed. A pained look flicked across John's face and it made Sherlock's breath hitch. "Would you rather be with her?"

                        "What?" He looked outraged. "Why would you…"

                        "You obviously miss her, and if what my pavement addled head remembers I'm fairly certain she misses you." Sherlock ignored his comment about her being there and launched into an explanation.

                        "It's not like that. She is… was an attraction. She's a distraction. I don't love her." Sherlock said it quickly, without even registering _what_ he'd said. John's eyes snapped to his.

                        "What?" Sherlock suddenly realized the gravity of what he'd just revealed and he actually blushed slightly.

                        "Don't be stupid." He replied coolly, but without his usual harshness. Turning his eyes away from John and again standing to move away.

                        "What did you say?" John demanded saying each word slowly and reaching across himself with his left hand to grab Sherlock's coat, stopping him from moving. Sherlock turned back to survey John's face, to read what he was thinking and feeling. He saw a desperate need to hear the words.

                        "I love you John." Sherlock sat down, sighing almost in defeat. "Isn't it obvious?"

                        "Maybe to you," John smirked slightly but Sherlock didn't soften. "Sherlock, I'm trying to be patient with you. I'm trying to give you space and let you be who you are, but if we're going to share this love…"

                        "Share?" The hope in Sherlock's voice as he so very slowly turned his gaze back to John's caught John off guard. In that moment Sherlock's guard fell further than John had ever seen it and it made him loose what little control he had left over his heart.

                        "Yes, share. I love you Sherlock. I've loved you for a long time." He sighed and looked away, ashamed of himself. "Mycroft wasn't wrong Sherlock. That whole Belgravia incident was very painful for me. I was sure…" John was cut off as Sherlock's fingers gently slid under his chin and turned his face back to look at him. They were silent for a long moment before Sherlock crushed his mouth to John's.

                        "I don't want to be with her." He whispered. "She proved to me that these feelings were dangerous. It was easier for me to be caught off guard by them with her, when she suddenly showed up. I did feel very strongly attracted to her, I could have grown to love her I imagine but my heart already belonged to you. After she… After what she did I determined it would be wrong of me to let you in further."

                        "I know." John's voice shook with emotion. "You completely pushed me away. The entire time she was there and after. It took months before you started to rely on me again. Baskerville was one of the first times after that that you actually opened up to me." John was tired and sighed.

                        "Are you feeling alright?" His voice was so soft, so lost in this sea of emotion.

                        "I'll be fine Sherlock." John smiled softly, looking him over as Sherlock gently put his hand on John's injured arm.

                        "I'm sorry I left without you, without resolving the situation between us." Sherlock sat back down, finally coming down off of the panic and emotion that had gripped him since Mrs. Hudson's first call to Lestrade.

                        "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you what was bothering me. Mycroft's sudden appearance wasn't helpful." John sighed.

                        "No, but I think he did it on purpose. I think he knew something like this was coming."

                        "And I think he has a point about Baker Street, whether we'd like to admit it or not." John's voice was growing more tired.

                        "You need to rest right now. Do you need anything?"

                        "You can ask me you know." A small smile crossing his lips, Sherlock tried not to look guilty.

                        "She was there?" Sherlock's voice was still a whisper, as if terrified to give away his heart.

                        "She was there." He sighed softly. "She told me to tell you to not let me out of your sight, to stay with you no matter what." He smirked. "Not that she needed to do that. I'm never leaving your side." Sherlock cough slightly, hiding a blush. John didn't mention the rest.

                        "Did she give you any…" A blush again.

                        "In my jacket, the right pocket," John whispered, his smile not fading. "Promise me you'll stay here."

                        "I swear it, John. I'm not going anywhere until you can go with me." Sherlock's voice was still quiet but firm. He reached out and gently cupped John's cheek. "Rest now, I'll guard you."

                        "I love you Sherlock Holmes." John whispered as he let himself sink to sleep. He didn't go for the letter in John's jacket and he had no way of knowing that in the hallway Mycroft stood perfectly still, watching them through the doorway.

                        "It's more than I ever deserve." He whispered, sinking back down. "I will make this right John, I swear." His hand on John's and it would be very clear nothing would move him from John's side.


	5. Holding Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock return to Baker Street where John finally demands that Sherlock stop holding back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit, it includes the first sexual scene. It's at the end of the chapter so if you don't like it, please skip it!

           The doctor demanded that John remain in the hospital for two more days for observation because every time he tried to get close enough to observe John, Sherlock would get in the way. Sherlock hadn't realized he was doing it but was secretly relieved that the doctor wished John to remain longer. He pressed John to accept it and remain where he was, but John was itching to get home. He'd had a steady stream of visitors, Molly, Sally, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and Mycroft had all come to see him several times. Mycroft had just been in this morning while Lestrade was briefing Sherlock on what tiny bits of information they had collected. He again pushed John to accept his offer and come to stay at his estate, promising that the guest house had only 'minimal necessary' surveillance. That short visit with Mycroft was the only time during those three days Sherlock had left his side. John had taken a lot of the time which had been full of silence while Sherlock scanned what he knew for clues; to think over the various things that had happened. He couldn't begin to fathom what Mycroft's angle was, being so damn nice. It was very unsettling but he'd heard something when the brothers fought that seemed to give John at least, the confidence that Mycroft was for once really trying to look out for them. He also knew there was more he and Sherlock needed to talk about, least of all about _her_. Sherlock's resolve had lasted almost a full twenty four hours before he'd taken the envelope from John's pocket. He'd done it while John was supposedly sleeping, so naturally he didn't know that John knew. John was deeply concerned and annoyed that Sherlock had yet to tell him what information was contained in the small envelope, preferring instead to believe that John hadn't seen him take it. Overall he was desperately ready to be out of the hospital. Away from the machines and the stark cleanliness of it all.

            He was finally out of his hospital gown and in a button down shirt that made him feel itchy. His mind was full of so many things, so many memories and thoughts that had raced through him over the last few days, that he still didn't quite trust himself to speak. He was also cold and thoroughly annoyed that he was not going to be able to fully take care of himself for quite some time. All he wanted was to be strong for Sherlock, but it seemed now at every turn he was failing. He looked down at his hands as aware that Sherlock was analyzing him again, trying to be completely sure he wasn't faking his health to get out of the hospital.

\- Rigid body language, stressed energy, tight mouth - _He's worried about what I think_. _He's still worried about something else... About her?_

-Starched shirt, crisp pants, shivering - _His weight loss has made him more temperature sensitive, but some tremors are from nerves. He's afraid. He's afraid of failing me._

-Darkened eyes, refusing to look at him for more than a moment - _He's still upset_. _He knows._

                        "Are you sure you are well enough?" Sherlock asked, snapping out of his deductions to check John over again. He did a series of movements checking him over as he asked the same question he'd already asked a thousand times.

                        "For Gods' sake, yes, Sherlock, yes!" John snapped, he was so tired of the sparse hospital room. His nerves were fried and he was tired of how the room reminded him of things he wanted to forget.

                        "I'm not a doctor John. I can't..." Sherlock had been acting in a way that made him seem clingy to John, for the entire hospital stay and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

                        "They showed you how to do it four times and I can walk you through it. You have been violently insecure over this." John looked into Sherlock's eyes. A host of feelings past between them as their gazes locked.

                        "I didn't protect you." The admission again, but this time it referred to much more.

                        "I'm not dead." A darkness in his voice, his speech cracking. _He's thinking about the fall_.

                        "You would have been if they hadn't..." _So am I_.

                        "But you weren't. That's the point of having friends." John grabbed his hand with his left one. "Sherlock, it's going to be okay. We'll figure this out." Sherlock looked at him, both of them tensing from the emotion passing between them. "I'm okay. You're alive..." _We can do this_. Sherlock grabbed John's hand a bit tighter, afraid to do more as they heard Lestrade's footsteps in the hall.

                        "Alright boys, ready to go?" He smirked. "Nice shirt John." He grinned, teasing him.

                        "I hate it." John said grumpily. "It's overly starched, I'm guessing Mrs. Hudson was crying while she ironed it. I miss my jumper. I'm cold." John hadn't meant it as a complaint but it was the truth. He suddenly felt the weight of something on his shoulders looking up to see that Sherlock had removed his jacket and placed it around John. "Sherlock..." He blushed slightly. _That's blatantly obvious_.

                        "Let them talk." He looked right at John and winked, smiling the smile he only gave to John. John looked down a little embarrassed.

                        "Oh trust me, they have been." Lestrade said in a somewhat tired voice. "The man left behind, the poor John Watson and the recently returned exonerated but distraught Sherlock Holmes. Barely reunited before tragedy strikes again." He fought a snort of laughter, saying it all in a very melodramatic tone. "One day they hate you, the next you're their best story."

                        "Great." John sighed, shaking his head. He was fighting to regain control over his emotion. He cleared his throat. "Are we set to go then?"

                        "We have the car ready down in the ambulance area. Less of them can get in that way. If you're ready we can go." John made sure he had packed everything in the bag Sherlock was carrying and then nodded.

            John couldn't help but feel proud and a little embarrassed that Sherlock's coat was around him as they walked, it dragging on the floor just slightly. He looked up to survey Sherlock's face, trying to learn to read him the way he was so adept at reading John. His features were tightened, protective, and angry. The jacket was a sign to one and all, he was not going to let this happen again. John was _his_ and he would do everything he could to protect him. Sherlock turned to look at John just as he'd finished his deductions and John blushed. Sherlock looked over his face, clearly contemplating John's lips with desire. John cleared his throat as his thoughts were snapped back to reality by the lift opening to the first floor and the sound of reporters trying to shove past the police barricade. John scanned the group of reporters, freezing when he realized Kitty was among them. Kitty was shouting something but he couldn't make it out over the din of the others.

                        "Ignore her." Sherlock hissed out of the side of his mouth. Slowly sliding his hand to rest on the middle of John's back. It was a clear motion and it made John shiver.

                        "So you noticed too." John replied quietly, taking Sherlock's direction to keep pace with him. It required a bit of effort and he had to hold his arm steady with his left hand.

                        "Always there? Yes." He said it in a quick voice, clearly in his mind.

                        "You realize," John said as he felt the envelope in the chest pocket of Sherlock's coat, "That we still have a lot to talk about." His voice was soft, but not timid.

                        "Yes, I do." A quick snappy reply, growling slightly.

                        "That growl is just adorable." John smirked, knowing Sherlock would be broken from his thoughts. Sherlock stopped as they reached the car and looked down at John, clearly contemplating his options for answering. There was something absolutely indecent about his stare and John returned it with all he could.

                        "That's enough of that, you two." Lestrade said firmly, making a face. The three of them dissolved into laughter. "You know, it's still strange to see you two behaving like this. Wait till the station gets a load of you."

                        "It'll likely be some time before they get anything that exciting." John smirked and they laughed. "Ouch." He sighed, realizing again he was injured.

            Sherlock helped him in the car and they arrived back at Baker Street without much trouble. Lestrade and Sherlock helped John in without asking his permission and he accepted without too much fight. He walked into the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised to find fresh groceries and four flower arrangements. One was from Lestrade and his team, one from Molly, and one from Mrs. Hudson. The fourth one did not have a card with it, but it was clear from the small twitch playing at the corners of Sherlock's mouth as John examined it - who it was from. John simply shook his head slightly, feeling his heart flutter at the sentiment that the gift betrayed.

                        "Lestrade, thank them all for me. It's going to be awhile before I can write and I think we both know his penmanship is horrible." Lestrade laughed.

                        "Oh please, you're so slow when you write." Sherlock chided him, removing his coat from John's shoulders and hanging it where it belonged.

                        "Only because I want people to be able to _read_ it." John teased right back, allowing Sherlock to help him out of his own coat. "I mean it, please thank them Greg."

                        "I will. If you two need _anything_ , I don't care if it's takeaway, call me." He sighed as Sherlock moved to say something. "Don't you dare click your tongue at me Sherlock. I've had enough of that to be going on with. Now, we've doubled patrols on this area but you had better stay wherever John is. I've got my best eyes on you two, but they've been known to fail." Lestrade raised his eyebrow as Sherlock went to make another angry remark. "You know, Mycroft's..." John shook his head just once and Lestrade sighed. "I'll check in with you both in a few days. _Yes_ , I'll bring updated case files." He rolled his eyes, again stopping Sherlock in his tracks. "I took the old ones back when I helped Molly put away the groceries."

                        "Oh Lord, Lestrade. You took his files? Are you trying to kill me?" Sherlock clicked his tongue, not appreciating the joke. "He'll be bored to tears in five," John's voice contained a smirk but Sherlock spoke over him.

                        "Three." He was already pacing around the living room.

                        "Minutes." They all laughed again and John nodded. "Thanks Greg."

            Lestrade nodded and then stepped out, he had a brief chat with Mrs. Hudson before leaving the flat. Mrs. Hudson had gone back into her flat so all they heard in the descending silence were the shouts of the reporters trying to extort some information out of Lestrade. John settled onto the couch, smiling as Sherlock fixed him a cup of tea. John was trying to lighten Sherlock's pent up feelings, but he sighed as he watched the way his face was fixed into his 'I'm fine, don't worry about it' look.

                        "I think you'll master that kettle now." John tried to catch his eye, teasing.

                        "Don't start. As soon as your arm is better this goes back to being your task." Sherlock said softly, but smirked as he set it down for him. "Do you need anything?"

                        "You to sit down here." John motioned to the seat beside him on the couch.

                        "I need to move." Sherlock started pacing. John sighed, he was _already_ bored.

                        "What did it say?" John picked up his tea a bit shakily with his left hand, pleased to note he caught Sherlock off guard. If Sherlock wasn't going to stop 'working' then John would keep pace with him. After all for three days Sherlock had been pleasantly quiet about the whole 'case' in hospital.

                        "That the spider web is well within the cat's claws and another reminder to keep you close." He tensed as he paced a bit faster for a moment.

                        "Ah." John said softly as realization dawned on him.

                        "Were you expecting more?" Sherlock turned to him a bit confused. He was actually quite fascinated that John was able to put the pieces together so quickly on his own.

                        "No," He said softly, setting his tea back down. "But I had expected you to tell when you read it." He watched Sherlock jolt slightly as he was pulled back into the room, that guilty look creeping back on his face. "Why are you still so secretive about things with her? I know how you felt. I saw it all, every moment." John sighed, closing his eyes and trying to force his emotion out of his voice. "Listening to that awful text noise at all hours of the day and night, laying awake while you brooded and composed, trying to make her talk to you... Trying to help you."

                        "I know!" Sherlock snapped defensively, but frozen in his pacing. His voice was elevated.

                        "Then why hide it? Do you not trust me?" John's voice maintained it's even tone but clearly gave away his hurt feelings.

                        "I trust you with my life." His reply was almost whispered.

                        "And your love, or so you said." He leaned forward slightly, tapping his left fingers against his knee. "So why not with her?" He let his tone soften as he turned his entire focus to Sherlock again. Focusing on him the way he'd watched him focus on crime scenes.

\- Sherlock's body language was tight, defensive, closed off. _Something he is fighting against._

\- His cheeks held just a slight amount of pink. _He's either ashamed, frustrated, or guilty_.

\- But his shoulders sagged, his eyes were lowered - _He doesn't understand what he's feeling_.

            A jolt in John's stomach made him realize that he had just used Sherlock's own powers against him. That in this moment he'd gleaned more information from the detective's body language and behavior than he'd ever gotten before. Even with all the tricks he'd learned over the course of their time together. He mused for a moment as to whether he was getting better at the game or if this man was so intent on trying to open up that he let John see more of what he normally kept hidden. Sherlock started pacing again as he suddenly seemed to realize that John was analyzing _him_. He was stopped dead in his tracks as John's soft whisper broke through the moment.

                        "Oh... Oh!" Their eyes met. "Sherlock, are you feeling ashamed?" His voice was so gentle. So very accepting but it made Sherlock tense as his defenses flared. He looked angry, rage sweeping through his features as he turned his entire body to face John. _How dare you even_... The words seemed almost shouted though Sherlock didn't open his mouth, but under the weight of John's calm, even stare he sagged. His guard collapsed and for the second time in four days, Sherlock Holmes let himself be vulnerable in front of John. John watched as that surrender happened and felt a deep ache inside of himself. He wanted to jump up and pull Sherlock to him, to embrace him and tell him everything would be alright. But now wasn't the time, Sherlock needed to navigate this to learn how process his feelings. Their eyes searched each others for a long time before Sherlock replied.

                        "Yes." He conceded, looking away as he growled again. John motioned again for him to come closer but he decided to pace again.

                        "Why?" He just let him have the space to feel. No pressure, no anger or disappointment in his voice. This was the third time John had watched as Sherlock tried to work through something like this. First with _her_ , then in Baskerville, and now here he was; a man who disdained emotion trying to sort his way through the fire of emotion burning in the core of his being. It endeared him all the more to John and cemented the fact that John Watson could _never_ love anyone else _this much_.

                        "I shouldn't feel like I do for her. I shouldn't have been taken in by her. I thought I dealt with all of this! It was so much easy to hide how I felt for you in the beginning. You were always denying there was any connection. But she..."

                        "You were unprepared." The comment was soft, encouraging him to keep speaking. John was asking him to think out loud this time. Sherlock felt himself shiver.

                        "Completely." He almost whispered it, as if the admission was too much. "Though I was so sure I had prepared myself." He said it in frustration with himself turning to survey John with the full force of his attention. John understood this was a test. He knew that Sherlock was looking to find in John the disappointment he felt in himself. John didn't change his expression displaying only a gentleness, an acceptance that seemed to both irritate and relieve him. Sherlock swallowed hard anger still visible in the lines of his body but John remained the same. Sherlock needed to see that John wasn't going to be disappointed in him for feeling or going to leave. He also needed to see he was being a colossal idiot.

                        "This isn't something you can be prepared for Sherlock. The types of things you felt for her and for me are not something you can ever prepare for. It just rings the bell, says welcome to your new life, and you," John smirked. "Get up and follow some crazy detective off on some wild adventure and hold on to what you can. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you wanting the cards she has been sending to us. There is nothing wrong with wanting to keep them close at hand to remind yourself of whatever lesson you felt you learned from her. But there is a _large_ problem if you can't tell me that you need that. If you can't be honest with what you're feeling and accept that feeling these things is very _normal_." Sherlock moved so fluidly that he was suddenly on his knees in front of John, surprising him slightly. His eyes exactly level with John's and searching for the truth in every movement he made. He was analyzing John. He felt Sherlock slip his hand over his wrist, feeling his pulse. Sherlock felt childish but he _needed_ to know the truth. He focused on John's breathing, his eyes, his mouth, the feel of him under his fingers. John didn't change anything about the way he was sitting. He focused on Sherlock's face, his breath hitching as he realized how close they were.

                        "You aren't upset that I still have feelings for her?" He asked it in a whisper, more feeling and watching for the answer than listening.

                        "No." John's voice caught under the force of his attention. "But I can't lie and say I don't feel anything about it. Because lying won't get us anywhere, it'll only ruin what we've started." He sighed but didn't pull away. Trying to keep his voice even. "I'm jealous, Sherlock. I'm beyond jealous.I didn't even know _I_ could feel this much." He sighed again, clenching his teeth. "She was _everything_ to you, everything I ever tried to be. She looked right into the heart of both of us and saw the things we were hiding. She made me confront my feelings but the moment I started to accept _what_ I was feeling she was gone and you pulled even further away than you'd been before." The intensity of Sherlock's gaze as he admitted that he was so powerfully jealous forced him to finally look away. "She moved part of you that I had never seen you even access before. I understand that. I also understand that for _you_ it's ten times more powerful than it would have been for anyone else." He raised his glance again, but almost shyly.

                        "I..." There was that pained look again. A look that showed the torment of Sherlock trying to accept what he was feeling and let himself be okay with feeling. "I really do not deserve you John." John almost groaned at the softness of his voice but couldn't stop the noise from escaping when Sherlock lifted his hand and gently cupped John's cheek. It was such a tender movement and it melted whatever anger and sorrow John was feeling. His breath hitched as their eyes locked together again, but he did not at all agree with Sherlock's opinion.

                        "You deserve far more than an old wounded soldier, Sherlock."

                        "You're _my_ soldier. Your wounds make you who you are. Some of your wounds are new. Caused by _our_ battles." Sherlock paused watching with almost pure fascination as John pulled slightly away and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. Sherlock realized almost instantly what John was doing but his attention was caught by the force of what John was doing. He slipped his dog tags out from under his shirt and slowly forced Sherlock to let him slip them over his head. "John, this is too much." He tried to protest. This was _too much_.

                        "You saved me." John smirked. "I mean you broke me again, but you've saved me over and over from my darkness, Sherlock. I know this is a journey that is uncharted, unclear, and likely terrifying for you. More than anyone else I know how hard this is for you. For me the hardest part is accepting that I love a _man_ , but for you it's so much more. It's accepting that you love _anyone_ at all. It's accepting that you have made and will make mistakes. That your judgment will be clouded and you will falter. It's accepting that from here on out you can never again be _perfect_."

                        "But I don't want to... I can't afford to make another mistake." His eyes were glassed over, so much pain.

                        "Mistakes mean we're human Sherlock. But you're already worked on counteracting that. You made a call and in my opinion, it was the best one you could have made. You came home and you let me in." John whispered as he reached out and let his hand come to rest on his tags over Sherlock's chest.

                        "You hid these from yourself for a long time." Sherlock slid his hand over John's, their eyes still locked. They spoke in low tones, almost whispers. This moment was theirs and they wanted to keep it that way. The secrets they were sharing were for them alone.

                        "I did. Almost the entire time you were away. It was too hard to feel the weight of them around my neck when all I could think of was how I failed to stop you from jumping." His voice cracked but was stronger than it had previously been. "I hadn't even thought about them until the morning I was attacked. I got them out after you stormed out intending to give them to you then. But I was so hurt I forgot." He watched Sherlock closely trying to analyze him again. Sherlock smirked, leaning over so his lips were just barely apart from John's.

                        "Leave the deductions to me." He whispered before pressing to John for a passionate but tender kiss.

                        "Someone has to teach you, your own medicine." John replied softly Sherlock barely pulled back, their mouths brushing as they spoke.

                        "I had Lestrade bring some of your things downstairs and put them into my room. I thought," There was just a moment of uncertainty in his features before he took a breath and regained his composure. "I thought it would be best if you didn't try to go up and down the stairs too much just yet. Since my room is closer to the kitchen and the bathroom as well..."

                        "If you're asking me to share your bed, the answer is yes." It could have been an innocent statement, but it wasn't. John watched as Sherlock's eyes burned into his, taking in how John was suddenly open to their desires.

                        "God you push me." Sherlock whispered his lips meeting John's again. "Do you know how many indecent things I want to do to you right now?" John met his eyes and blushed.

                        "I'm sure I can imagine." He whispered, Sherlock could feel the heat as John spoke but he could also see how tired he already was.

                        "I should make sure you're comfortable." Sherlock jumped up and set about making sure John had everything he needed. John was slightly confused by the sudden distance but didn't want to push Sherlock. He knew that Sherlock had a reason for everything he did. He watched as Sherlock brought him pillows and a blanket, set his laptop to where he could reach it with his good arm, and made sure the remote for the telly was within reach. He offered to make John lunch, but he declined deciding instead to try to rest a bit. Sherlock sat in John's chair, putting his fingers in front of him again as he always did when he thought. His focus however was on John.

                        "I know you hate it but Mycroft is right about this place." John's eyes were closed by his voice cut straight through Sherlock's musings.

                        "Are you saying we should take him up on his offer?" His voice indicated that he wasn't entirely sure John's brain hadn't been addled.

                        "I'm saying we should consider it. I don't want to leave our home any more than you do. It feels like running. But if it keeps us both safe..."

                        "You're the one in mortal danger. The only danger to me is if something else should happen to you."

                        "Sherlock," His voice was tired but serious.

                        "What?"

                        "You _cannot_ kill the people who attacked me."

                        "I can, I have..."

                        "Alright then," They were going to argue semantics. "I will never forgive you if you do."

            John's eyes remained closed and Sherlock could see the exact moment he dropped to sleep, but he understood that John was very serious. Sherlock sighed as he let his mind slip back into a more normal state, losing himself in his thoughts as he tried to decide whether or not they should accept Mycroft's offer. But John and Mycroft were right. Baker Street had proven to be unsafe several times now and no one had more security than Mycroft. The thing that made Sherlock resist was that accepting Mycroft's help meant _owing_ him something. Mycroft would have leverage over him. The very idea made his skin crawl and he almost wished he had a cigarette. He'd stayed with Mycroft for awhile after St. Bart's but he'd felt too hemmed in, trapped. He watched with sadness as John sank into a sleep troubled by nightmares and realized that he really only had one option. He had to take John away from here, he had to accept the offer. He turned his attention more fully to John his attention burning on him as he tried to memorize every line of his face, every angle, every shadow...

                        "Speaking of thinking..." John said in a gruff voice about half an hour later.

                        "What?" Sherlock jolted, not entirely sure whether he'd dozed off a bit himself.

                        "I didn't honestly believe it was possible to think someone awake. Do you always think so loudly?" John opened his eyes tiredly.

                        "There's a lot on my mind." Sherlock retorted and stood. John let himself come all the way awake.

                        "Anything you want to talk about?"

            He didn't answer but instead he swept up his violin in one fluid motion. He began to play a slow, haunting melody that John had never heard before. The focus on Sherlock's face was what truly pulled John out of his sleepy state and into rapt attention. He sat up slowly, his attention fully focused on Sherlock as he continued to play. The song varied in some places but was even more passionate a piece that the one he'd composed for _her_. John became completely absorbed in the song as Sherlock continued playing, almost holding his breath until Sherlock finished. He noticed that there were tears on his cheeks and was surprised to see that Sherlock had a single tear on his jaw. The melody hung in the air for a long moment after he set the violin down, his back still to John. John's eyes burned into him as a realization washed over him.

                        "That song..." John whispered, halfway standing.

                        "Yes?" Sherlock's back was tense but his voice was soft, John realized he was preparing himself for a critique.

                        "Did you write it?" The awe in his voice gave away the blush on his cheeks.

                        "Yes."

                        "Sherlock, did you write that song about… Me?" His breath caught as Sherlock turned back to look at him.

                        "Yes." Their eyes met and John's breath hitched in his chest.

                        "When," he forced out, his full attention on Sherlock.

                        "While I was… away." He whispered his reply. "It kept my mind busy... It... Made me feel better," Eyes searching for meaning behind the questioning.

            John pushed up off the couch, it was somewhat painful to do but he didn't stop himself. He crossed the room and grabbed Sherlock by his dark locks, pulling him into a feverishly passionate kiss. Sherlock moaned softly, caught off guard but sank into the kiss putting his arms gently around John and prolonging the kiss. But he pulled back after just a few minutes.

                        "I know you want to touch me. It's driving you mad. You keep holding back though," John whispered, putting his hand on Sherlock's. "Don't."

                        "The chemistry of our..." Sherlock started to explain.

                        "Don't go cold on me." John whispered and suddenly his resolve skyrocketed. "You told me if I was uncomfortable to speak up. Your rules," He whispered his voice full of passion. John took a deep breath, solidifying his resolve before turning and moving towards the bedroom. He was unbuttoning his shirt as he went, Sherlock's attention riveted to him. He entered the room and was surprised to see that Sherlock had not followed him but had remained rooted to his spot in the living room. " _Come here_." It was a command, pure and simple. Sherlock groaned but found himself more than willing to obey.

            John wasn't completely sure if what he was going to do was the right thing, but he knew that in this moment that Sherlock needed to let go, to be himself. He also knew that if Sherlock didn't do more than crush John against himself, John was going to go insane. He didn't know how far he was ready to go, but he knew he was ready to open the door. He slowly began to pull his shirt off as Sherlock walked through the door, closing it behind him. Sherlock's eyes took in every detail of the situation as John slowly stripped the shirt off his frame and threw it on the floor. He was standing next to the bed and his eyes burned into Sherlock's as their gazes met. Sherlock could feel his control over his desire slipping.

                        "John..." He asked in a half broken whisper, his breathing was very irregular.

                        "I said don't." The commanding tone he used ripped through Sherlock, shutting off his logic. "I know what I'm asking." Sherlock looked over him like he was going to wake up at any moment. That he would suddenly find this to be a dream. "I already know you're bored and need something to occupy yourself. I also know you have wanted to touch me more than you actually have since you returned. You keep holding yourself back even when I'm desperately seeking more from you. In this situation you're the experienced one, which confuses me, but is also one of the greatest comforts I can have. You want to memorize every inch of me. I've seen how you look at me when I move. How you watch me. You've been trying to learn about me by observing, but we both know you memorize so much better when you can touch the thing you're studying." Sherlock shivered as John explained how _he_ worked. It was so different. "You are better when you can touch, feel, smell, and taste it." His voice was very clear and his eyes were so determined Sherlock almost melted. He watched entranced as John shifted, stepping out of his trousers. Sherlock was astonished, he'd been so focused on John's face he hadn't seen him undo them. John sat back on the bed, now only in his boxers and blinked slowly as his eyes focused on Sherlock's again. "So study me." Just like that John blew open Sherlock's desire and shorted out his mind.

                        "If... If I..." Sherlock's throat was stuck. He was trying to warn him, to make sure he really knew what he was saying. John almost laughed at the effect he was having on the great Sherlock Holmes, but stifled it so Sherlock wouldn't think he was joking.

                        "I said touch me, Sherlock." Sherlock growled as John issued the soft but firm command. He was almost panting as he helped John back into the bed so he was lying in the middle of it, propped up against the pillows. Sherlock desperately wanted to touch him and the thought of John trying to command him only made it stronger.

                        "I'm going to own you thoroughly when I'm done with you." Sherlock whispered as he moved. He kicked off his shoes and pulled of his socks before crawling up in the bed. He moved so he was partially straddled over John one knee on each side of his left leg. He loomed over him, clearly taking a dominant position and a possessive sparkle in his eyes. He leaned down and claimed John's mouth in a passionate kiss before growling slightly just beside his ear. "You're mine John Watson." John groaned as Sherlock's mouth made contact with the sensitive spot where his shoulder and neck met. He wanted to grab Sherlock and hold him down, to fight with him for control but he knew with his arm he couldn't.

            Instead he watched his face as Sherlock gently reached out to touch his chest. He moaned softly as his fingers softened and followed every line, every muscle, and every scar. Trailing over every inch of his skin he could reach. He watched as John's mouth parted under his touch thoroughly enjoying as he melted under his fingers. John's eyes slid closed and he released himself completely into Sherlock's touch, the effect of which was so beautiful to Sherlock that it took all he had not to run. Not to flee from the vulnerability they would share if they continued on in this relationship. He decided however that if John was going to put himself on the line, he wasn't going to stop until John said to. Sherlock's fingers danced over his body like they did the strings of his violin: learning every creased, every indent, and every mark. He varied the touch from feather light tickles to a deep sensual pressure as he worked. His eyes and hands taking in all they could as he worked.

                        "I want to know. What do you see, Sherlock? What do you feel?" John's voice was low. It was dark and deep with desire. His eyes still closed as he waited expectantly for an answer. Sherlock grunted with sheer pleasure as John _commanded_ him to tell his secrets.

                        "I see a man who is testing the limits of my control." He purred in his ear, licking it. "I see a man who was very nearly bent over the kitchen table and savagely taken four days ago. A man who is lucky he hasn't been bound, gagged, and tied to this bed _so many_ times before." John could not fight the squirming feeling inside his chest as Sherlock admitted that John caused him to skirt the edge of his control. "You're not as physically fit as you used to be, likely owing to your current desire to not care for yourself. But you're still in good physical condition. Your body is much softer than I expected, your skin is so smooth as if begging to be touched." John groaned, opening his eyes to watch Sherlock analyze him. "You've never been touched like this." It wasn't a boast. "I can feel the tiny tremors it sends through you when I move my fingers over your skin. No lover, man or woman, has ever caressed you like this."

                        "God you're tormenting me!" John gasped, groaning loudly.

                        "Just as you have done to me for so long," His breath blew across John's ear again, making him shiver. "When I am done with you John Watson, no one else will ever be able to satisfy you." He wasn't saying it to boast, but as a statement of fact.

                        "You say that as if I will ever want anyone else to touch me, Sherlock." He groaned again as fingers traced the edges of his boxers. "I've needed you to touch me like this for so long. I imagined it over and over…" The pure unrestrained need in John's voice raced through Sherlock's system like a drug. He dug his nails lightly into John's legs, trying to restrain himself from stripping the man and laying his claim.

                        "You continue to be the most beautiful and difficult puzzle I have ever had to solve!" John's eyes flew open and met Sherlock's. The desire burning in the depths of his gaze as he almost pleaded with John made John tense to the point that he didn't just want release, he needed it.

                        "Then stop holding back!" John grunted as a command but Sherlock grinned.

                        "I don't think you'll be the one issuing commands with that wounded arm, Captain." Sherlock's voice was dark but it was exactly what John wanted to hear. "These are coming off." He pulled as John's boxers. John did what he could to help and before long they were on the floor with the rest of his clothes. "Such a good boy," Sherlock grinned and grabbed a fistful of John's hair, kissing him deeply. "If you want me to stop, just say so."

            John just nodded but his entire body tensed and his mind went blank as Sherlock's hands began exploring his hips and over his thighs. He cried out as the touch shifted and he realized that Sherlock had wrapped his hands around his erection. He explored every inch of him before sliding up and down over it, watching how each pass made John shiver and moan. He changed his speed, alternating his touch and the amount of contact. Tormenting John and learning every detail he could about how to bring pleasure to him.

                        "Oh God, Sherlock…" John panted, his toes curling. In his wildest dreams he hadn't imagined how amazing _this_ would feel. He was already on the edge but fighting it.

                        "Just let go." Sherlock whispered, moving so he could kiss John's jaw and nibble his ear. "Let me see how I get to you." His voice was part commanding, part pleading. It had been so long since John had even wanted someone to touch him like this and the fact that it was Sherlock wasn't helping his resistance.

                        "I'm… Sherlock," John exclaimed as he clawed into Sherlock's leg, Sherlock pumping over him again.

                        "Come apart for me." Sherlock felt John tense and as John shouted his name he claimed his lips with a focused and intense kiss.

            John's orgasm rocked through his body and made all his muscles tense and then release almost simultaneously. It was like he had no bones left as he just completely dissolved under Sherlock's hands. Sherlock kept kissing him until John almost passed out from lack of oxygen. He panted, falling back against the pillows watching Sherlock's every move. Sherlock smirked before getting up and returning with a wet towel and a dry one. He helped John clean up his chest and stomach before throwing the towels down with John's clothes. John was wrecked, he had nothing left. Sherlock's smug grin giving away that he felt rather victorious at the moment.

                        "You are incredibly beautiful when you orgasm." Sherlock whispered into his ear.

                        "You are an incredibly smug bastard." John panted, both of them laughing quietly.

                        "I told you not to challenge me." Sherlock's voice was still soft as he caressed John's cheeks. "You look utterly exhausted… And I haven't even broken a sweat yet."

                        "You're so lucky I'm injured." John smirked.

                        "We'll see about that, Captain." Sherlock's grin was evident even in his voice.

                        "Thank you." John whispered, looking into his eyes as he sank down into the bed.

                        "There is nothing for you to thank me for. Thank you, for being brave enough to try to love a man like me." John closed his eyes, listening to Sherlock's breathing. Silence fell for a few minutes as Sherlock considered how to tell John his decision.

                        "What?" John could practically hear the wheels turning.

                        "I'm going to call Mycroft." John's eyes fluttered open as he looked into Sherlock's face.

                        "Are you sure?"

                        "Yes. You need to rest and recover." He sat up slightly, looking down at John. "You need somewhere that my full attention can be on you and you don't have to worry so much about what happens next. I need you safe. Mycroft can give us all of those things. Just don't expect any family dinners."

                        "Thank you." He said again, letting his eyes close.

                        "I love you John." Sherlock stood and picked up his phone, preparing to move into the living room and make the call he knew he needed to make.

                        "I know." Sherlock's laugh was the last thing John heard before he sank to sleep.


	6. Going to Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's off to Mycroft's manor to find relaxation, rest, and a final goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know poor John is having a rough go of things! Stick with me! There will be a break in the storm during the next two chapters.

       Sherlock was shirtless with one arm under John, holding him gently to his side. His other arm flung over his head betraying the fact that for once he was resting peacefully. A small smile playing on his face as he apparently enjoyed whatever he was dreaming about. A small lump under the blanket next to him indicated where John had curled up against him, hiding himself under the blanket to avoid the cold. They were both breathing almost in sync with each other, slow rhythmic breaths indicating that the two of them were deeply asleep – a rare feat in 221B. The peacefulness of the moment was disturbed however when at exactly the same moment, one on each side of the bed, their phones started ringing. The clashing ringtones made a horrific jumble of noise as the two sleepers awoke.

                        "What's going on?" John grunted, trying to disentangle himself from the blankets. He wasn't entirely sure how he managed to get himself so wrapped up in them.

                        "Your phone is ringing." Sherlock grunted, rubbing his eyes.

                        "So's yours," He groaned in response, still struggling with the blanket. Sherlock grunted in agreement as John finally pulled his head free of the blankets, his hair standing up in several directions. Sherlock as always managed to look almost perfect despite the fact he had been sleeping so soundly. The phones stopped ringing before beginning again.

                        "Mycroft," They both grumbled at the same time, still very sleepy. Sherlock fumbled on the nightstand for his phone before hitting the button to answer the call. "What do you want?" He asked in a voice thick with sleep and annoyance. John's phone stopped ringing.

                        "Good morning to you as well," Mycroft's voice was loud enough John could hear it. "I'm on my way to discuss arrangements with you. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

                        "Okay," Sherlock said and unceremoniously hung up. He dropped his phone off the side of the bed not caring where it landed. It made a muffled _fump_ as it hit the carpet on the floor and he slowly ran his hand over his face.

                        "Uh, arrangements," John sat up fully. He ran his hand over his face a few times trying to push the sleep from his eyes. "Did you call him last night?" Sherlock smirked as he watched John try to force his sleep addled brain into action.

                        "Yes after you went to sleep last night. I told him we wanted to accept his offer." John moved slightly, putting his hand on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock tensed but out of pleasure, not out of fear.

                        "I'm surprised you were able to sleep." His voice was soft, betraying his happiness.

                        "You have this annoyingly _adorable_ habit of cuddling into me when you realize I've come to bed. It usually happens at the precise moment I feel I am about to figure something out." He grinned, teasing him. "It's also very difficult to maintain my focus and equally as difficult to stay awake when you're burrowing against me all warm and cuddly." Sherlock sat forward his long fingers gracefully sweeping over John's skin as he checked over his shoulder. John blushed slightly. "Come on, we need to shower and get dressed. I will help you wash up." Sherlock stood, smirking at John's adorable groan as he extracted himself from their embrace and started pulling out clothing for them both.

                        "It was so comfortable though. And I have no idea when you will actually sleep again." John sighed and pulled himself out of bed to follow Sherlock.

            Sherlock lead John through the flat, helping him as they showered and changed. They finished preparing just as Mycroft's rap echoed in the hallway downstairs. Mrs. Hudson let him in and they had a short conversation before made his way up to the flat. When he entered John was sitting on the couch, his shirt only on at the wrists and a cup of tea on the table in front of him. A first aid kit was open next to a cup of black tea for Sherlock, who was sitting on John's right side cutting away the old bandage from his shoulder. They were talking softly with their eyes focused on each other, not even looking up until Mycroft spoke.

                        "Well this is a very different scene than usually greets me." His face was a mixture of what looked like pleasure and disappointment. He returned to his usual blank but thin lipped smile. "Rather a sweet picture of domestic home life for you Sherlock, aren't you _bored_?"

                        "Mycroft," Sherlock growled in warning. John broke his gaze away from Sherlock to look at their guest.

                        "I didn't expect to hear from you, Sherlock." He smirked as he sat down, "Least of all so quickly." He took his usual tone attempting indifference.

                        "I had hoped the need wouldn't arise." He replied back with almost the exact same tone. John observed them for a moment, reading their body language. They were both tensed, prepared for a disagreement. He didn't understand why there was suddenly this extra layer of tension between them. It had never been easy going for the two of them but they had always maintained some sort of politeness that was just gone now. Both of their mouths tight lines and refusing to let the other gain any ground, though John felt sure Mycroft had softened some at least with regards to John. Sherlock seemed to be the one with the most resistance, which surprised John as they needed Mycroft's help.

                        "Really?" John asked in an exasperated voice. "We're going to do this again?" He motioned between the two of them with his good arm. Sherlock refocused his full attention on John's wound, applying the cleaning solution and medications as required. It was a long tense moment before he spoke again.

                        "Mycroft as much as it pains me to say this, you were right. Baker Street is no longer safe for John." He tried to keep his temper from his voice.

                        "Or you." John cut him off and he clicked his tongue.

                        "So we will accept your offer if it still stands." He continued, trying to keep his voice as even as he could.

                        "I had _hoped_ you would come to your senses. Leave everything to me; I shall arrange it straight away. No point in delaying." Mycroft smirked. "I shall send a car for you this evening."

                        "What about Mrs. Hudson," John began, interrupting Sherlock's planned retort. He grunted as his sudden outburst made Sherlock apply too much pressure. Sherlock strengthened his grip on John's arm and made him sit back against the couch.

                        "She will be perfectly fine, John. I will ensure she has every precaution needed. You still do not seem to realize that _you_ are the one in danger. You, the only person who still believed..." He shook his head and rose from his chair.

                        "Mycroft," Sherlock stood as he finished bandaging John's shoulder, allowing him to pull on his shirt.

                        "Don't go sentimental on me now, Sherlock. We both know this is a necessary precaution." His lips were tense in a thin smile. "Pack what you need and expect the car at five." He gave them a curt nod and turned, exiting the room. They heard him have a short conversation with Mrs. Hudson again before the door closed loudly.

                        "He's definitely hiding something." John smirked as he picked up his tea.

                        "Indeed." Sherlock replied in a sulking sort of voice, but his eyes were narrowed the way they did when he'd discovered a fact about the case. John stopped asking questions for the moment, waiting until Sherlock shook his head.

                        "Are you sure you can stomach this?" John's voice was soft as he spoke, trying to give him the space to do what he needed.

                        "I have no other choice. My hands are tied." He grunted, hemmed in by the realization. He suddenly swept through the room looking over his possessions as he tried to decide what to take. "It will be very difficult to solve some cases without having the full range of my possessions at my disposal. I need to focus." He moved to the bookshelves pulling out book after book. Some he tossed to one side, the others he simply tossed.

                        "What about clothes?" He smirked as he drank more of his tea, contemplating what to pack.

                        "John, I didn't wear pants to Buckingham Palace. What's Mycroft's estate?" Sherlock asked it in a snappy tone, rather annoyed that John had interrupted his thinking, but sank with ease back into the comfort of familiar territory. He quirked his eyebrow up and met John's gaze, trying to soften the sting of his comment. They were firm for a few minutes and then dissolved into a fit of giggles.

            They were still laughing two minutes later when Mrs. Hudson made her way up the stairs. She paused in the door way, grinning as she watched them.

                        "There! That's so much nicer. None of the shouting and the yelling," Her voice was soft. "Look at you two laughing away again. It's such a wonderful thing to see." She sighed wistfully. "Oh what will I do without the noises coming out of this flat?" She moved to the kitchen and began shifting the flowers around as there wasn't much else to do. "Mycroft said you two were going on _holiday_ for awhile."

                        "Yes, I'm afraid it cannot be avoided." Sherlock said quickly as he moved from the bookshelf to a stack of papers.

                        "Will you join us for Christmas?" John asked hastily as he stood up, blushing a bit. Mrs. Hudson beamed with pleasure as she looked to him. Sherlock however paused, a paper in front of his face blocking everything but his eyes. He didn't know why but in that rushed, simple, and yet somewhat needy question he'd been fully reminded of John's tenderness. Of the very thing that Sherlock himself lacked and yet so desperately needed.

                        "Oh, of course I will, dear!" Mrs. Hudson smiled. She saw Sherlock's look and grinned. "I'll just leave you two to your packing. If you need anything, just shout..." She made her way back out of the flat, muttering to herself as she did. Sherlock's gaze must have lingered because John suddenly looked to him and blushed.

                        "What?" Sherlock slowly lowered the paper, smirking broadly.

                        "You're so... _sentimental_." Sherlock teased.

                        "Says the man who bought me flowers," John retorted, standing and preparing to move into the bedroom to sort through his clothes.

                        "Oh, _that_. It's a standard form of..." He launched into his explanation but John cut him off.

                        "How about instead of you going all cold and scientific on me, we agree to disagree? After all I think we've established I'm the heart of this operation. _You're_ the brains." They laughed for a moment as John walked towards the bedroom. He felt the energy shift in the room as Sherlock seemed to add another piece to the puzzle.

                        "Oh..." Sherlock whispered in the somewhat awed voice he used when it all clicked. John turned back, his confusion clear on his face but Sherlock was already focused on the bookshelf again.

            John sighed as he tried to sort out what clothes they might need. It was hard enough for him to pack when he knew how long he'd be gone for, but this was an indefinite trip. He also had to try to consider what Sherlock would want to wear, by no means an easy feat. It also didn't help that Sherlock was occasionally barking orders for John to pack the most random items. Eventually he found a bag big enough for many of the things Sherlock was trying to get him to pack and took it to him.

                        "I said…"

                        "I know what you said Sherlock, here you can use this bag to put the other things you need in it."

                        "It's not big enough." He pouted, John almost laughed.

                        "You are so adorable when you do that."

                        "Don't patronize me!" He snapped his fingers crossed in front of his chin.

                        "We're going to Mycroft's, not Antarctica. It's not like we won't be able to retrieve things." John offered, handing him the bag.

                        "It must be so charmingly simple in your mind." He snapped but it was much gentler than before.

                        "Oh and here we go." He giggled and Sherlock could not stop the smirk at the corners of his mouth. "Don't forget your violin." John returned to the bedroom trying to decide how best to divide the clothes.

            He managed to finish packing the two bags of clothing, one specifically for himself and one for Sherlock. He was very disgruntled at how long it took him however and furrowed his brow as he tried to decide whether he was the babysitter or the one being babysat. He knew he couldn't carry the bags out to the living room and was standing there musing over what to do when Sherlock swept into the room.

                        "I've been talking to you for ten minutes and I don't think you've…" He licked his lips slightly, trying to hide a slight tinge of embarrassment as he realized John had packed for him.

                        "I'm sorry I was finishing up." John looked at him with a bit of confusion.

                        "I had wondered what was taking you so long." His voice softened. "John, I wasn't serious about not taking clothes."

                        "One can never tell with you." He said dismissively, trying to change the subject.

                        "Did you pack the mobile chargers?" He started rummaging through the dresser drawers and the closet.

                        "Of course I did."

                        "And the pistol," He opened the nightstand drawer on John's side of the bed.

                        "Yes, Sherlock," He motioned to a small black bag inside his clothing bag. His voice betrayed his frustration.

                        "I mean thank you." Sherlock said quietly, looking directly at John.

                        "I know." John sighed again and sank down on the bed.

                        "Something is wrong." Sherlock whispered, coming to stand in front of him. He narrowed his eyes, focusing his attention on John to analyze every detail about his face and posture.

                        "I'm just tired, Sherlock." He tried to dismiss the subject, running a hand over his eyes.

                        "No you're not," Their eyes met. "You're angry. You're angry with yourself." John groaned inwardly, how could he have forgotten that to Sherlock he was transparent as glass?

                        "Right," John flushed with shame, looking away. Sherlock moved over to sit down next to him on the bed, putting his hand on John's arm.

                        "John, you're injured - not weak." Their eyes met and John shivered slightly. Sherlock realized he was trying to fight his emotion. "All of this, everything that's happened... It's been too much for you. Then just as you start to get your feet back under yourself, someone attacks you. The fact that you're still here putting up with me, shows that you're a stronger man then you give yourself credit for."

                        "I was shot at, Sherlock. There were bullets and bombs and you never knew who would be taken down next. But it was nothing compared to this." He took a deep breath, his voice shaking. Sherlock could feel the fear gnawing away at John as he tried to keep his breathing even. He was on the verge of a panic attack.

                        "I'm right here, John." Sherlock whispered in his ear as he pulled him into a tight hug. He pressed his cheek against John's. "I'm not going anywhere."

                        "That's what I thought before." John tried to fight the sob that was threatening to break free but he couldn't. Sherlock held him as tightly as he could, feeling his body shake with the emotion and tears that threatened to pull him back into darkness. He had an odd look on his face as he had to admit that he didn't know what to do for John in this moment. He didn't know the right words to say, the perfect touch to give, or the motion to make. He felt his own face tighten as he tried not to give in to the full sway of his own emotions but tried to give himself the space to feel and not think. He held John a bit tighter, trying to convey his support to him through silent touches but felt the moment John tried to bottle his feelings back up. A maneuver he'd seen John use time and time again.

                        "Don't," His breath drifted across John's ear, his tone almost pleading. "Don't shove your feelings away. You being able to feel is what I need most of all right now. I need you to feel these things, John. I need you to show me how to feel. I love you. I promise you once we're safely at the estate I will tell you what I know about the situation." John tried to focus on his voice. "I'm not going anywhere, not without you. Not ever again." Sherlock's voice wavered though he tried to keep it steady, his own emotion breaking through. He whispered his words to John, not pulling away.

                        "I'm so sorry I keep doing this." John's voice was barely a whisper. _Save him from himself, John_. The memory flashed in his head.

                        "If you insist on continuing to apologizing for the very thing I need from you, I may have to punish you." Sherlock said with a smirk. He pulled back so he could look in John's eyes but was still close to him.

                        "Don't give me incentive." John said gruffly, the tears finally stopping.

                        "You won't like it." Sherlock leaned back and quirked an eyebrow.

            Just like that they were laughing again, John smirked weakly at Sherlock and he simply nodded. Sherlock picked up the bags and took them into the living room depositing them by the door, John following him and just watching him move through the flat. Just like that it was three bags, one violin case, and two men stumbling through the dark. Just what John had always expected a holiday with Sherlock would be like. Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen, making a lot of noise but John didn't follow. He sank down on the couch, absentmindedly rubbing his right forearm. His arm was aching. He hadn't wanted to take any of the pain pills but he knew he needed to if he was going to stay focused. He picked up the pill bottle with his left hand and tried to open the bottle. He fumbled for a few minutes, his frustration growing until he almost shouted. Sherlock had appeared back beside him carrying a plate of breakfast and a cup of water. He set the items down and took the bottle from John, opening it and giving him one of the pills. John took it hastily, keeping his eyes averted.

                        "Thank you." He whispered.

                        "I'm happy to help. You should eat something. I made you breakfast." Sherlock offered.

                        "I'm fine." He replied stubbornly, trying to appear stronger that he was.

-Tight mouth, taut muscles, and determined face – _he is trying to hide something_.

-Low energy, darkened eyes – _He is exhausted_.

-Grim expression, refusal to look at me, and refuses to let me help – _He feels helpless and can't accept it_.

                        "This makes you feel like you did before we met, doesn't it?" John took a long drawn out breath; he'd hoped Sherlock would be kind enough _not_ to analyze him right now. He fought the wave of emotion before speaking.

                        "Yea," He conceded softly, his face tightening.

                        "Oh." He whispered softly in realization.

                        "Oh what," John asked grumpily.

                        "It's the other arm. You got shot in the left shoulder in Afghanistan." He put his hand on John's and the effect drew John's attention. "This will heal."

                        "It's not the point!" John shouted before taking a deep breath. His breath shook and pain lined his eyes as he tried and failed to let himself open up to Sherlock. He wanted desperately to allow himself to become vulnerable to the one man he trusted completely. "Damn it." His frustration kicked into full gear again and Sherlock felt him slipping towards a panic attack again.

                        "John, focus on me." Sherlock whispered, putting his hand on John's knee. "Don't bottle it up. Talk it out."

                        "I..." His voice caught. "I wasn't supposed to come apart like this. I had gotten so much better, so much stronger!" He was shouting slightly. "I was so much better than this!"

                        "But you watched me, the only person who brought any sort of normal back into your life; commit one of the gravest acts imaginable." Sherlock sighed, looking down. "You watched me be defeated. Worse you watched me be defeated by myself. "He looked back up, forcing John to meet his eyes. "To you I was untouchable. Nothing could faze me. Then you watched as I fell all over myself because of a _woman,_ then again over some demonic dog that I couldn't accept. You stood beside me as the entire world turned on me, despite the fact you warned me it would happen. And I repaid all of that effort by just giving up." John searched his eyes as he spoke, trying to find the meaning behind what Sherlock was saying. Trying to understand what he was feeling. "Do you know why," His voice cracked.

                        "You said the things you did?" John finished for him, clearing his throat slightly. Sherlock nodded, looking over his face as he answered. "Yea, I figured that part out immediately." He swallowed hard. "You were trying to make me angry. You were trying to push me away so I wouldn't be hurt by what you were going to do. But..." His breathing grew rapid again and he clenched his hands, grunting as he did. Sherlock tightened his hands over John's. "What you said after that wouldn't have allowed me to believe it, if I had, even for an instant." His voice cracked again as he tried not to let the memories overwhelm him.

                        "What do you mean?" There was a shyness and doubt in Sherlock's voice that almost took John's breath away.

                        "You said: 'Keep your eyes fixed on me.' You asked me if I could do that for you. Both statements which meant you wanted _me_ to be the one who saw what would have been your last moments in the world." Tears fell down on their hands from his eyes. "That's how I knew that you were just… Just going to go with what that bastard wanted everyone to believe." He shuddered.

                        "But you didn't believe I was gone."

                        "Not really. It seemed like such a _boring_ way for you to do things. It didn't suit you. It wasn't right to your personality. But I couldn't figure out how you would have faked it." He clenched his fists. "I tried to find the clues but they were blank to me."

                        "So you came home and wrote on your blog." Sherlock whispered, encouraging him away from the moment of the fall.

                        "Because I didn't want anyone to think that I ever doubted you for even a moment." His chest heaved with his breath, both of them tight with anxiety, sorrow, and love. John's breathing was forced. He was measuring it as best he could.

                        "No. That's not why you did it." Sherlock shook his head slightly, raising his hand to John's cheek. "You did it because you wanted me to know you didn't doubt me. You wanted me to know someone still believed in me." A sob shook John as the tears came more quickly. Sherlock's hand gently caressed John's cheek as tears fell over his fingers, his own tears falling as well. "One more miracle…" He whispered they're eyes locked together. John hadn't known Sherlock had overheard that grave side conversation.

                        "Yea, the most important one," He forced out, shivering with silent sobs. Sherlock leaned forward and John let himself melt into the moment but as their lips met the kiss was very different than any of the previous ones. It wasn't about desire or lust. It was a tender, passionate, and fumbling kiss. It was the pain they both held inside and hoped to shelter the other from. It was the deep adoration and love that the two of them had hidden from for so long but now could not hide away.

            After they broke apart John let himself be guided as Sherlock lay back on the couch and brought John with him. He arranged himself so they were both half sitting up, half lying down with John against his chest. John felt comfortable in the arrangement, though the couch was a bit small for the two of them to cuddle together like this. Sherlock didn't speak as he watched John turn towards him, pressing his ear to his chest. He just tried to continue thinking and processing all of the emotion they had just shared. John instead focused on the sound of his heartbeat and breathing, trying to establish some sort of solid ground to stand on. John grew incredibly comfortable in the embrace and before long Sherlock felt him sink to sleep. It was only after John closed his eyes however, that Sherlock let himself reveal how deeply affected he had been by their discussion. He didn't move an inch, trying as best he could to allow John the space to rest. Instead he focused on trying to piece together what little information he had on the most recent developments to try and prevent the spider's web from trapping anyone else. There were several times John would slip into a nightmare, usually muttering Sherlock's name. So Sherlock would press a kiss against his cheek, the top of his head, or wherever he could reach to bring peace back to the man he loved so well. Each time John would curl up more against him, seeking even more comfort.

            At half five Sherlock woke John with a gentle kiss giving him a moment to pull himself from the fog of sleep. He cleaned up the uneaten food and made sure the flat was much tidier than they normally would have left it. Just as the clock ticked to five they heard the buzzer. The two men who'd taken Sherlock to Buckingham Palace nodded curtly as they entered the room and began picking up their bags. Sherlock helped John into his coat before sliding on his own and fixing his scarf in its usual way. He saw John looking at the various flower arrangements on the table and smiled. He tapped John on the shoulder, motioning for him to go down to Mrs. Hudson and moved over to grab the first aid kit and John's pills. While John was talking to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock swept in and out of the door several times before coming to join them just at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Hudson walked John back out towards the door and received a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Sherlock.

                        "If you need anything, just call." John told her and she nodded.

                        "Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes will be in touch." One of the men nodded to her as he shuffled John and Sherlock out of the flat.

            John froze just outside the door as he looked up and around the street outside 221. There wasn't a reporter to be seen. The silence of the sudden lack of journalistic shouting made the entire scene seem eerie and unsettling. John's confusion caused him to stop right in the middle of the sidewalk and Sherlock almost ran smack into him, putting his arm up to brace himself.

                        "Where did they go?" He whispered and Sherlock looked around quickly.

                        "Likely Mycroft told them to clear off." Sherlock replied quietly, something dark in his voice. "Some type of governmental threat."

            But a block away just inside a doorway they saw the one reporter they expected, Kitty Riley. A smirk fixed on her face as she snapped away with her camera. Sherlock turned his head and directed John to the car. The two of them getting in and remaining silent for the moment.

                        "Mr. Holmes is away on business this evening. He said you had everything you needed in the guest house and to make yourselves comfortable." One of the men handed Sherlock a key. "He will check in on you tomorrow when he returns." A text noise, the man checked his phone. "And it seems Detective Inspector Lestrade dropped off a few files for you as well." John's phone chimed and he slowly extracted it from his pocket.

_Mycroft's just told us. Glad he's stopped being thick. I dropped off some files for incentive. Get some rest and call me if you need anything. -Lestrade_

_That will never stop. Thanks for the files, at least now he'll keep busy. –JW_

_At least for a few minutes, yea? -Lestrade_

                        "Who was that?" Sherlock asked, since John wouldn't let him read it.

                        "You'll know when you go through my phone later, like you always do." Sherlock huffed and John giggled.

                        "Lestrade, likely saying something boring about us and our leaving Baker Street," He pouted.

                        "See, why ask?" John laughed more and Sherlock couldn't hold back his smile.

            They arrived at Mycroft's large, well maintained estate and were driven around the back. The guest house was a two bedroom, single level building situated near a rather scenic pond quite some distance from the house. There was a single drive up to the house and a single sidewalk leading from it to the house. A small garden situated to one side and an entire air of separation from the main house. John raised an eyebrow looking at Sherlock as the car pulled to a stop. They got out of the car and Sherlock unlocked the door.

                        "For Mycroft guest is a relative term." Sherlock answered the unasked question as they walked through the door. "I believe Mycroft uses it more for those who don't want to be found than for anyone he's entertaining. He has an entire wing in his manor that he uses for actual guests. Mum used to scold him so for it."

            The door led straight into a living room that was a large open room. Straight across from the entrance was a pair of sliding glass doors that lead out onto a veranda and into the garden John had noticed previously. To the right end of the house was a large formal dining room that looked out over the pond. The kitchen offset from the dining room was much larger than the one at 221, including room for a smaller dining table. In fact it was almost as big as the living room and kitchen combined at Baker Street. The living room opened up again to the left, including a fire place in the corner. A hallway branched directly off their left from the living room leading first to a bathroom, then to a room clearly designed as an office. The hallway branched to the left just beyond the office and led to the first bedroom, while taking the hallway straight on lead to the master suite complete with a large private bathroom. John barely had time to register all of that before the breath was sucked out of his chest. His jaw clenched.

                        "This is a rather nice isolation chamber, isn't it?" John asked quietly as he walked through the living room.

                        "Yes, unless you're forced to stay here." Something tightened in Sherlock's expression as he spoke. "John, go make sure the bedroom is acceptable please." John looked at him confused but did as he asked.

            When John returned to the living room their bags were in the doorway. The flower arrangement Sherlock had gotten him was on the coffee table, the one from Mrs. Hudson was on the kitchen dining table, and the other two were on the long formal dining table. John blushed and Sherlock grinned.

                        "So _sentimental_ ," He whispered pulling John to him for a quick kiss.

                        "Oh sod off." He laughed.

                        "Shall we unpack?" Sherlock made two trips into the bedroom with their clothing bags and actually let John direct him on where to put everything. He then returned to the main room to unpack his other items.

                        "So who all stays here?" John asked as he followed Sherlock.

                        "Usually guests of State who don't want to be seen, those being granted some sort of amnesty, and those Mycroft wants to keep a close personal eye on." He called back over his shoulder. He was rummaging around in the bag of his possessions.

                        "Or for those too stubborn to stay dead," A voice rang out through the room just as John entered from the hallway. Both men straightened up and tensed, their faces betraying their emotion quite clearly.

                        "What are _you_ doing here?" He asked unable to conceal the emotion in his voice.

                        "I'm paying my respects and saying goodbye, John," Irene Adler stood, no smile on her face as she did. Her voice even but her eyes clouded with some dark emotion. She was wearing a simple black dress, her pale skin and painted red lips gleaming. Her attention was fully on Sherlock as she moved her intention to close the gap between them cut off by the darkness in his eyes. Sherlock however stepped closer to John.

                        "I didn't expect to see _you_ again." Sherlock's voice cut through the room full of tension and a threatening darkness.

            There suddenly wasn't enough oxygen in the room. John's entire body tensed and he was ready to explode. His breathing instantly kicked up and he was having a hard time focusing on calming himself. _What the hell was Mycroft playing at_? He began to shake slightly, the threat of another panic attack immanent and decided he was going to leave the room. He looked up flashing an angry and hurt look at Irene before beginning to move, not even trying to conceal his feelings. Just as he moved to step away Sherlock's hand slid up over his left shoulder tightening down and locking him in place. He squeezed his shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring way but it sent a clear message to Irene. _If you try to hurt him, I will not hesitate to hurt you_. She smiled knowingly but there was sadness in her eyes.

                        "That was sort of the point, wasn't it?" She stood firmly in front of them, trying to regain her composure. "The problem is that being dead just isn't much fun, now is it?" She took a deep breath, hiding some emotion from her eyes as she tried to give the impression she had the upper hand. "I'm glad to see you safe, John." John was slightly taken aback by the genuine tone of her voice but it did nothing to diminish the feelings clawing their way through his chest. "But safety is such a fragile thing. But that's also the problem with playing games with a mind like Moriarty. Once you're in the web you can't get out. The fly doesn't gain freedom just because the spider is dead." John tensed defensively but Sherlock again squeezed his shoulder. "Oh relax." She ordered in an annoyed voice. "I'm not going to hurt either of you. Indeed that is very reason why I am saying goodbye. I've betrayed my agreement. Certainly I had broken it before but doubly so now because I've come back and I _saved_ John Watson. There will be no Sherlock Holmes to save me this time." There was a trace of something in her voice but John couldn't make it out. All he could tell was that it was some sort of resolute sorrow, an acceptance of what she expected was her fate. "Don't look so worried, Sherlock." She smirked at Sherlock, watching his face. "You don't need me anymore. I was a distraction." She said it coolly, almost dismissively and John felt Sherlock tense as the words cut. He got angry and tensed himself but what he wanted more than anything was to hit that _woman_ for tormenting him like this. Didn't she understand what she was doing? How much damage she was going to cause?! Her features darkened as she read their tiny movements. "Stop it, both of you. You're being very foolish and we're wasting precious time." She turned back and walked back to the coffee table. She paused to smell the flowers before turning back to them, Sherlock's energy changed again as he noticed something about the scene. "I can see from the look on your face Sherlock, that you're not entirely surprised to find me here. That's good that means you're putting the pieces together. The answer is right in front of you, as it has always been. The only thing I have left to give you is a clue: think about _what_ he said." John looked back and forth between them clearly confused for a moment. His rage had seemingly subsided as she so causally tossed out a piece of the puzzle Sherlock had been struggling with. Sherlock's face tightened as he tried to resolve himself to dismiss her.

                        "I owe you a thank you." Sherlock said curtly, dlearly displeased with having to owe _her_ anything. "You saved John."

                        "You've already given it. Consider it repayment for borrowed time." She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke, a cool edge to her voice.

                        "Is there no way we could…" He stopped himself and looked embarrassed by the question, even though he couldn't stop himself from asking.

                        "It doesn't matter if we could, Sherlock." She finally looked up at him. "My usefulness is over. You have something infinitely better than me. Don't let him go." She whispered as a forceful command, her eyes scanning his as they finally let their gazes meet. " _Never_ , let him go." She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "A hunter sent for a target, but failing to return with the prize," She whispered.

                        "I don't intend to." Sherlock was musing over her words. His hand was still firmly on John's shoulder as she moved, clearly not completely trusting of her.

                        "Good." She noted his face as he though. "The same but not, a criminal and a detective," Her voice was soft, full of meaning.

                        "There has to be..." She cut him off.

                        "Let the ghosts go to rest." She blinked back a tear and straightened up. Her phone gave off a text alert which she checked and sighed softly. "Time to go to the ball," She whispered blinking back a tear. She walked out the door and into a waiting car, turning back to look both of them in the eyes before speaking. "Goodbye John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."


	7. Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is desperate to put the pieces together, to understand why John is such a target. But as the pieces fall into place he is confronted with just how important John is in the war that should have already ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tension finally breaks and this chapter leads to full man on man action (again towards the end). Again if it's not your thing please skip it.
> 
> The next chapter will be pure fluffy goodness before everything comes to a head!

            It was still dark out when John woke the next morning, sitting straight up as he gasped for air. It took him a long time to realize he was safe but not at home. His face tightened as he scanned the main portion of the bedroom quickly and realized Sherlock was not in sight. He fell back against the pillows, shaking with fear and holding back sobs. He closed his eyes forcing his breath out and drawing it back in slowly, counting down from ten as he did. He did this for several minutes as his senses seemed to kick into high gear and he realized there was no noise coming from the rest of the house. He sighed as he sat back up, running his hand over his face to bring himself back into the moment. There was nothing quite like having the same old nightmare in a new place. He sighed again, trying to release the tension from his body as his thoughts turned to what had happened the night before.

            Irene had just walked out the door and the two of them were alone in the steadily increasing vacuum of the living room. John could feel how Sherlock's body had tightened, read in his face how utterly helpless he was feeling in the moment, and understood in that instant no matter what they both lost. He'd taken a deep breath to strengthen himself before he finally pried his voice loose of his throat. They were both in complete shock over her sudden arrive and departure.

                        "If you want to go after her," He'd started in a whisper, Sherlock turned to face him his intense gaze making the words die in John's mouth. John could tell he was analyzing him, trying to read every clue from his face. After a moment that felt like an age Sherlock grabbed John roughly and pulled him into a kiss. John could feel the tremors that were running through him under his skin. In a way the amount of emotion coursing through the normally detached detective was terrifying.

                        "John, I told you I'm not leaving your side." He'd said it as firmly as he could manage in the moment, but he had been panting slightly from the internal struggle he was facing. He didn't like to lose, no that was an understatement. He hated to lose and now he was in a no win situation.

                        "Sherlock," John began again his voice cracking from emotion as he tried to be stronger than he was able. As he tried to be strong enough for both of them, though they both stood on the edge of failing. His face conveyed what he was trying to say, how he was trying to tell Sherlock that if he went to save her things would still somehow be okay. That they would still be okay. All of the things showing on John's face cracked Sherlock open wider and he pulled John into a crushing hug without regard for his injury. He had only relaxed when John had grunted in pain, but he kept John as close to him as he could.

                        "No John, I belong right here beside you. I can't keep chasing a folly and leaving you to deal with the damage." A shaking breath followed this admission before he continued. " _You are everything_." His voice had been a guarded whisper, to John it was clear that his mind was in a great number of places all at once. The statement made something inside John's chest purr with satisfaction but at the same time it confused and scared the hell out of him.

                        "What do you mean everything?" He'd demanded angrily. His rage building again.

                        "Don't be stupid." Sherlock had snapped at him, pulling away. "It's right in front of you."

                        "Sherlock, I can't do this right now!" John had felt like he was going to explode, rage and anxiety clawing at his chest as he watched Sherlock drop right back into case mode without regard for the feelings either of them were having.

                        "I'm sorry John but I can't," Sherlock had tensed more actually clenching his fist before he began again. "I can't just turn off my mind like you want me to." Rage swept through both of them as they prepared to have a spectacular row but suddenly Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep shaking breath before opening them and focusing anew on John. "Come on, I can at least get you settled into be so you can rest before I worry about the chatter in my head." John had almost fallen over, just like that Sherlock had completely defused his anger and disarmed him. Sherlock had taken his hand and pulled him gently towards the bedroom.

            He'd been so tense he'd just followed Sherlock like a puppy would, letting him guide him to sit on the bed and allowing him to remove his shirt and trousers. Sherlock had been deeply concerned about the state of John's mind and he didn't really come back into the room until Sherlock had set down a glass of water and the bottle of anxiety pills that John never took. He sat down on the bed next to him and laced their fingers together, giving John something physical to focus on. Their eyes met and John slowly seemed to come back into himself.

                        "John, just because I'm racing away in my mind doesn't mean I'm leaving you." He'd almost whispered it but he spoke with complete conviction and effort, trying to comfort John. "I'm not leaving you, least of all for her. You are my heart." John had looked so deeply into Sherlock's eyes, trying to read the soul of the man before him. He'd known how hard it had to be for Sherlock to even ease the chatter of his mind when he was 'on the case' and to focus on the fact that John had needed him. He tried to let it comfort him, to prove to him that Sherlock was telling the truth. "But we both know I can't stop this. You know it better than anyone else. I have to figure this out. I have to know why you are so important to this whole mess." John understood what Sherlock was really saying - he needed to understand where he'd made a mistake and put John in so much danger. Sherlock had stayed in the room with him, guiding him back against the pillows and ensuring he was propped up and comfortable until John had finally dropped to sleep.

            Now it was half five and he was wide awake, the house was silent, and there were no lights on. Alarm bells blared in his mind as he tried to fathom where Sherlock could be. He took a deep breath trying to remind himself that Sherlock could end up almost anywhere without respect to comfort or environment when he was in case mode. Trying, as he stood and fumbled with his bathrobe, to remind himself that Sherlock would stay completely still for hours or days lost inside the expanse of his mind. He was glad to see he'd managed to keep his socks on overnight and straightening them as much as he could he stood and began to pad about the room. Sherlock was nowhere to be found in the master bathroom or suite so John mentally crossed it off his list and moved out into the hallway. A single light shown in through the doors to the garden and showed John that Sherlock was not on the couch or at the dining table in the living room area. He slowly made his way into the second bedroom and the small office still coming up empty handed and doubt and fear began to gnaw away at him again. Had Sherlock lied? Was he gone? He'd stopped just outside the main bathroom and was preparing to go into the living room when he caught the outline of something on the floor in the bathroom. There sitting cross legged and perfectly still was Sherlock. John fought not to laugh at the image realizing that Sherlock must have started off there and never moved further into the house as he'd fallen asleep while thinking. The relief flooded through his body and he softly pulled the door to. He knew better than to try to wake Sherlock even to make him move to a more comfortable location. Waking Sherlock at a time like this was like poking a sleeping dragon - very dangerous for your health.

            Instead he turned his attention to his normal morning routine, entering the kitchen and pulling out what he needed to make tea. He mused, as he waited for the water to boil, over what life was going to be like while they were pretending to holiday and trying desperately to solve a mystery that threatened to devour them. Once his tea was ready he moved over to the dining room table and sat down so he could look out over the grounds remarking at how peaceful and quiet it was. He took a deep breath as if enjoying it but deep down it made him itch. The silence was actually annoying. This would be torture for both of them. How could he have forgotten that he lived for adventure? Though he hoped he could convince himself the downtime was needed. He tried a few movements of his right arm finding them to be woefully lacking and incredibly painful. He stood up to go fetch his pain pills and noticed the small stack of files on the other end of the table. He was quite surprised to see that they hadn't been touched so he moved over and leafed through them; there were three main files each one was thick and full of every report Lestrade could collect. The first one was on Moriarty's little scavenger hunt that culminated in that very telling scene by the pool; the second seemed to be a large collection of personnel files, case logs, and other information about aliases and crimes attributed to Moriarty; while the last file was from the entire case that had lead to Sherlock's 'suicide.' John felt the air compress in his lungs and knew better than to open any of the three folders, resolving instead to pad over to the first aid kit, getting his pain pills and settling down on the couch. It took him three attempts but he finally was able to get the bottle open and leaving it open he set it on the table and took one of the pills. His mind went slightly blank as his attention focused on watching the day break over the garden. Just after sunrise his phone vibrated in his pocket causing him to startle.

_I'm on my way down; I'll see you in a few minutes. -MH_

            He hadn't heard Sherlock's make a noise and he hoped that Mycroft hadn't text him. He got up and immediately began to move and check on Sherlock, with the intention of trying to wake him when a thought made him pause.

                        "Well, that's that then isn't it?" John whispered to himself. He steeled his nerves and stood firmly almost militaristically glaring at the front door. Which was exactly how Mycroft found him a few minutes later when he opened the door and let himself in.

                        "Good morning John," Mycroft's voice had been even and normal but John could see that he was somewhat taken aback by the look on John's face. His umbrella was, as always, at his side and his entire image the same standard angular black and white it always was.

                        "It is morning, Mycroft. But let's wait and see if it turns out to be a good one." John's voice and face were both tight with emotion and meaning.

                        "Where is my brother?" He tried to smooth over the situation.

                        "He's sleeping for the moment and I think you and I need to have a little chat." John dropped his tone and his eyes sharpened.

                        "A chat about what?" Mycroft's voice was clearly patronizing.

                        "What exactly do you think you're doing, letting _her_ just walk in here? Do you have any idea the amount of damage you've caused?" His voice was a low, almost lethal tone.

                        "I honestly thought she would have remained distant. It was a misinterpretation of her motives. It will not happen again." He said it dismissively, tilting his head slightly.

                        "That seems to be something you're exceptionally good at, misinterpreting others intentions." John's eyes burned into Mycroft's but neither revealed the true depth of their emotion. "But no it won't happen again because she's resigned herself to die. But _you're_ going to fix that." It wasn't a question, it was a command.

                        "Excuse me?" He couldn't hide his surprise so well this time. John almost smirked as he caught it.

                        "You told me during our first meeting; you know the one with the security cameras, the black car with tinted windows, and the abandoned warehouse; that you worry about your brother 'constantly.' A fact that you have been very keen to try and convince the both of us of every time we have crossed paths since then. If that is true then you should already know what this is doing to him. What this whole situation will do to him, if _she_ dies. You know full well he'll be wrecked - you saw it before - more than he already was or is. Because from where he is sitting right now either way he loses. He loses because of _you_. If he goes to help her then he is convinced something will happen to me or I will turn away from him. If he stays here with me then he knows that someone will harm her; which is why Mycroft, he is currently sitting cross legged on the floor in the bathroom completely still all locked inside his mind as he tries to solve the solution-less problem you helped him build." John clenched his left fist, his eyes now positively burning with passion. "He's so mucked up over this he never came to bed last night. His hands are tied and he can't do anything to help anyone. But you don't have that same problem. Your hands aren't tied and we both know that once Sherlock stops thinking so hard on this he's going to realize all the things _you_ have done." There was a pure threat in John's tone and Mycroft's brows quirked up a bit.

                        "Oh? The things I've done?" Mycroft said softly, rather surprised to hear John attempting to threaten him.

                        "Yes, the things you've done." John growled. "It was rather fortunate wasn't it, that my old mate just happened to be in the park right after I left therapy and rather more so that he just happened to know a difficult man looking for a flatmate?" John's tone was clear and Mycroft had to concede he was surprised John had put all the pieces together. "You and I both know how the doubt is going to seep into his mind when I tell him what I've figured out. He may already know but he hasn't accepted it and once I tell him, well that will just make it worse won't it." The threat did not fade.

                        "When you tell him?" Mycroft rolled his eyes trying to remain unaffected but it was clear he hadn't thought John would piece this all together. "We both know that's a foolish errand."

                        "No, we both know it is a when not an if, Mycroft. You might have done this all with some goal in mind, but I doubt you got what you were expecting."

                        "No, clearly this was not at all what I intended." His tone was abrasive.

                        "But it's the way things are and I'm not going anywhere. So, if you're done trying to pretend none of that ever happened I think it's time you consider how you're going to repair your bond with your brother."

                        "So you're saying that I should correct this situation because it will make him forgive me?" Mycroft almost laughed at the incredulousness of the statement.

                        "No. I'm saying that if you mean a word that comes out of your politically biased, egocentric mouth you will do this because you do actually care about your brother and his happiness. The way you seemed to show when you put me on the path to finding him." John's tone completely changed and it cut through Mycroft's defensives.

                        "Oh." Mycroft said softly, looking a bit taken aback. "Is that..."

                        "Don't even try to pretend it wasn't. I've put it all together Mycroft and we both know if I can put it together he can. We also both know that it isn't going to go over easily, it's not going to be something that he can just accept. I know how I feel. I know that it doesn't matter. It wouldn't have mattered if you had picked me up yourself thrown all my stuff into Baker Street and told me I had no choice, because we both know you can't control how I feel. My heart is beyond your grasp, something that has always bothered you immensely." John smirked a bit as Mycroft's face conceded the point. But John was standing in the living room in such a way he could not see what Mycroft could. He couldn't see the bathroom door propped open just enough that Sherlock's eyes could sweep every motion his brother made and every word landed clearly on his ears. "But he needs to know _she's_ alive and I need her to... Well I need her to _never_ come back again." His tone darkened again but he sighed softly.

                        "I cannot believe you're even asking me to help her. _She_ has done nothing but cause a problem for both you and my brother from the very moment she first came into the picture." Mycroft said looking somewhat amused, but not betraying Sherlock's presence. He pulled out his cell phone and sent a text. "There, it is all arranged. My people will extract her after she has completed her task and she'll be given a nice comfortable life somewhere very far from here. I'm sure that is to your pleasure." Mycroft's smirk was far too all-knowing.

                        "Don't patronize me Mycroft. I know there's more that you're hiding but this will have to be enough to be going on with. If we're going to make it through this and all not end up in hospital somewhere we need to be even on all sides. So long as _she_ is safe, I don't care where she ends up. He needs that, more than I'm sure he'd be willing to admit to either of us. So now that we've cleared that up I'm going to go wake..." There were quick footsteps, the sound of dress shoes on tile as Sherlock rounded the corner.

            Sherlock strode into the living room his body tight with purpose as he moved. His entire attention was focused on John and it took the breath right out of John's lungs. He went red as he realized that Sherlock may have heard the entire conversation he'd just had with Mycroft and fear gripped his heart. Mycroft smiled however and turned his focus on his brother.

                        "Sherlock, nice to see you awake," Sherlock grunted. "I trust you have found everything to your liking?"

                        "Yes." His reply was monotone.

                        "I've left things much as they were when you were here."

                        "I noticed, thank you." He replied again, his voice still monotone, trying to end the conversation.

                        "I've made arrangements with Lestrade that he may contact you here with cases as needed, but I would recommend that you do not leave except to go to the Yard and that if you do leave you keep John at your side. Stay away from Baker Street."

                        "Whatever you say, Mycroft," Sherlock was burning holes into John with his eyes, but his voice was still the exact same. Suddenly he broke his attention from John and turned to look at Mycroft with something akin to pure hatred on his face. "How much?"

                        "What?" Mycroft feigned surprise.

                        "How much did you tell him?" Sherlock rounded on Mycroft, coming to stand directly in front of him.

                        "I don't know what you're..."

                        "You're my brother, don't be an idiot."

                        "As much as was necessary to try to get the information that was needed, Sherlock. I am sure you both can understand that national security..."

                        "You are the biggest idiot of them all aren't you?" His tone was lethal and dark, his eyes burning into Mycroft's.

                        "I did what was necessary."

                        "You started a war and then gave the enemy the information it needed!" Sherlock was shouting and John was taken aback but his throat was still stuck with the realization that Sherlock had heard him trying to threaten Mycroft.

                        "Do not tread so easily into this territory brother. There are bigger things to attend to in this moment." Mycroft didn't even attempt to veil his threat as he spoke. "The war was already on before I became involved and as you now know I provided you with far more than I ever gave him."

                        "Do not try to patronize me, Mycroft. You don't realize what you've done." Sherlock turned back from him, focusing again on John. John blushed as he watched the emotion in Sherlock's eyes change so rapidly.

                        "Well then, I'll leave you to it." Mycroft sighed and stepped from the house, his entire face clenched in a disapproving stare. Sherlock waited until the door clicked shut behind him and moved to lock it, striding over so he was just in front of John.

                        "How much did you hear?" John finally spoke, forcing the words out over the lump in his throat. Sherlock smiled, from military to mush in seconds. Their eyes locked and John just dissolved under his gaze.

                        "All of it. I woke when Mycroft first opened the door. I'm surprised that I didn't wake when you came in the bathroom." He looked thoughtful for a moment but his attention never left John's face.

                        "Sherlock, if you heard all of it…" He was gearing up for an explanation but Sherlock's mind was already focused.

                        "You really are an angel." Sherlock whispered, blushing slightly as his words faltered. "How can you even think to spare her life when you could turn your back and no one would fault you for it?" He stepped closer to him, reaching up to put his hand on his cheek.

                        "You need _her_ alive." He whispered in reply, automatically leaning into the touch.

                        "I need _you_ alive." Silence fell between them for a long time before John finally got the courage to ask the question burning inside of himself.

                        "What about the rest of it?" His voice was timid as he spoke, afraid of how Sherlock would react. "How Mycroft used the fact that Stamford knew us both, how he set us up to become flatmates?"

                        "I'm surprised that you put that together before I did." Sherlock said honestly and John blushed more. "But you love me?"

                        "Of course I do!" His tone was almost angry at the implied meaning behind his question.

                        "Then it doesn't matter what Mycroft did. You said it yourself; he doesn't control your heart." Sherlock claimed his lips in a fiery kiss before gently running his fingers through John's hair. He guided him over to the couch and started the process of redoing the bandage on his wound.

                        "Why didn't you come to bed?"

                        "You know how I am." Sherlock looked down. "I'm sorry, even now…"

                        "No it's okay. You have to still be you." John smiled. "But you still have to sleep and eat." John scolded slightly but in a much more playful tone.

                        "I know, if I don't my doctor will do something dreadful I'm sure." His eyes sparkled as he teased.

                        "Yea, not without this arm working properly," John grinned and the two of them laughed softly for a moment.

                        "Thank you, John."

                        "There's no need for all of that." He blushed again. "Just tell me what's going on."

                        "There's so much and it is all still very disorganized in my mind. Though what Mycroft just told me has cleared a lot of it up. It seems that Moriarty had his eye on me for quite some time before he first made an appearance where I could see him. I think that is why Mycroft setup for you and I to meet, so I would have an ally against the oncoming storm as it were," Sherlock's voice was even and focused as he worked gently, checking the wound over like he was shown. "But Moriarty wasn't prepared for that variable and you quite literally shot his plan full of holes. There are still a lot of pieces that don't fit quite right, I'm missing something bigger about it all." He sighed, conceding he was at a loss.

                        "Well I'm going to make sure I don't blog about that, the last time you were stumped we broke part of the internet." The two of them laughed and then sat in a comfortable silence for a long time.

                        "I'm going to make some tea, want some?" Sherlock asked as he stood.

                        "That tone makes me wonder if you're growing to like making it." John grinned as a reply.

                        "Don't get used to it John Watson, I'm a consulting detective not your housekeeper." They both laughed in full on hearty laughter for a good ten minutes over that, only stopping when Sherlock returned with tea for them both.

            They settled into their temporary life at Mycroft's estate fairly easily after that. Lestrade came by at least once a week to ask about a case, check in on them, or else just to have dinner with them. They went into the station once a week as well, following up on whatever they were working on. Mrs. Hudson came to visit a few times and John began a relatively structured schedule of waking up early, being hauled into town for physical therapy and doctor's visits, heading to the Yard, and then returning to isolation at the estate. Time flew by and before John had really absorbed everything that was going on he and Sherlock had been at the estate for almost two months. John's arm recovered much faster than the doctors had expected, no doubt owing to the amount of effort he was putting into trying to get back to full strength - but he was still having some trouble with certain motions. His nightmares dwindled until he was only having about one a week and as winter descended on them it was hard to remember that there was still a spider web lying in wait. Which is why John was slightly taken aback when after two months of not speaking about the case at all Sherlock sat him down on the couch to explain what he knew.

                        "John, I know we've been chasing down leads for the..." He furrowed his brow, "Crystal Orchid case," They both laughed. "But I think there is something that you need to know."

                        "What is it?" John crossed his arms, looking Sherlock over with intense focus.

                        "Moriarty's plan - it's being controlled by someone who would not waver from his instructions no matter what. Someone who was inspired to loyalty by him, a loyalty like yours except that it was likely built off lies and falsehoods. The cat with the spiders web."

                        "Yes, Kitty." Sherlock sighed but didn't click his tongue.

                        "Yes, all this time it seemed that he'd only contacted her when he wanted to setup the story about Richard Brooks, but I have found evidence they were linked before that. Long before that whole incident began. I think she was partially responsible for building up our publicity when we first started getting popular. You of course were the primary instrument of that, but I think she really blew it up - got us out into the limelight. I think she did it partially so that when Moriarty was able to take me down it would look that much worse and I would seemingly suffer that much more."

                        "Which you did," John whispered softly.

                        "No, I didn't." Sherlock's voice was soft and full of emotion. "There was a specific event that Moriarty prepared for that didn't happen." John ran his hand over his face.

                        "You know before I met you nothing ever happened to me. Now I think it never stops."

                        "I thought it was blatantly obvious that was how things would be when you came with me to Lauriston Gardens." Sherlock grinned and John shook his head.

                        "I suppose it should have been, yea?" His smirk widening but then realization dawning on him. "So you're still missing a piece of the puzzle?"

                        "Yes, there's something that is right in front of me but that I can't seem to grasp." He paced slightly and John effortlessly got up and picked up the case file.

                        "Well what do we know? We know that he likes metaphors and stories." John mumbled as he sorted through the files. "The breadcrumbs, the gingerbread man," He was still mumbling but Sherlock had frozen. He tilted his head slightly and John sighed.

                        "I need to go to my mind palace." John snorted with laugher and just took the glare Sherlock gave him.

                        "Alright Sherlock." He stood and prepared to leave but Sherlock walked over and stopped him.

                        "I didn't say leave." He kissed him softly.

                        "You always kick me out when you go to your..."

                        "Things are different now. Please, stay where I can see you."

                        "I'm going to make some tea first, okay?" John smiled and kissed the top of Sherlock's head as he settled into an arm chair.

            By the time John returned with his tea Sherlock was already making the minute movements he made when he sorted through the information he stored in his mind palace. He wanted to watch him, to observe every move he made but he knew better. If he did that Sherlock wouldn't be able to think properly and would likely tell him off when he was done. So John focused instead back on the case file, trying to see if he could squeeze any information out that might help. After while he realized he was feeling rather hungry so he got up and quietly went into the kitchen. He rummaged in the fridge for a few minutes before jolting as he realized Sherlock had been at this for almost three hours. He made both of them a sandwich and brought them out to the living room, setting them down on the table. He then got them both some water before returning and moving so he was standing directly in front of Sherlock's view, not close enough to touch him but much closer than he had been.

- _Remember what he said_ \- Irene's voice fluttered through Sherlock's mind. He furrowed his brow as he thought back to the pool. _I'll burn the heart out of you._ Grunting, John had been in danger, Moriarty had known Sherlock was partial to John. _So loyal. But you've shown your hand now_... No he'd known before then. He'd expected that move.

- _Every fairy tale needs a villain_ \- fairy tales, _breadcrumbs: Hansel and Gretel_ , _the Gingerbread man_ , no...

- _A hunter sent out for a target but returning without the prize_ \- fairy tales with hunters...

- _I'll burn the heart out of you_ \- heart, hunters...

            Sherlock's eyes moved back and forth rapidly as he sorted through the memories and information he kept stored away. He realized John was standing closer to him, trying to draw him out of his thoughts but he fought it. John's gaze pulling at him to come back into the moment, just like that John suddenly seemed to become part of the images flashing through his mind, words and thoughts flashing over his body as they came to him.

- _I owe you a fall_ \- he hadn't meant the fall from St. Bart's or the public opinion. No he'd meant something more, the fall from John's heart. To be removed from John's loyalties.

- _Fairy tales_ \- Moriarty knew he might lose so he put a plan in place to erase Sherlock's victory.

- _A apple with I.O.U. carved into it, fairy tales_

            Realization dawned on Sherlock's face and John was surprised that he hadn't snapped at him yet. His eyes slowly starting to return to normal as he began to come back into the room.

- _Laced so tight it took her breath away_ \- A bomb strapped to the chest of a man who was already so very loyal and whose loyalty stood unwavering in the fact of any test

- _A hunter sent to remove the heart of the fairest in the world_ \- a woman whose mind was so like Sherlock's she stole his attention from the very man who stood beside him, the man who would never let him fall.

- _The poison apple_ \- How could he have been so blind? John had ruined Moriarty's plan and in that one moment, that first moment become a target.

            No, John wasn't just a victim, _he was the entire war_. He paled as his attention came back into the room his eyes burning into John's as he did. John's brow quirked up in confusion as Sherlock's gaze and full intensity of his mind settled onto him, but Sherlock didn't speak. He waited for a long moment in silence as Sherlock let the pieces slide back into place, trying to sort out how to best approach the food argument.

                        "You've been at this for about three hours, you should probably... What?" John's confusion grew more, realizing that Sherlock had fixed him with a deeply meaningful stare.

                        "I have been incredibly stupid." Sherlock said forcefully, standing and moving almost in one motion so that he was right against John's body.

                        "S-Sherlock?" John's breath caught as Sherlock's mouth moved towards his.

                        "All this time, all these games... Everything that he did was aimed at stopping me, but not by harming me. It was all aimed at my _heart_ , at you." His voice was almost breathless. "You stopped me from eating the poison apple; you saved me from the very thing he couldn't shake himself from. He and I were the same, except that suddenly I had you. You were the variable he didn't expect and couldn't control, so willing to give your life, to give of yourself to let me find some sort of normal. Someone to make sure that my need for cleverness and affinity for boredom didn't become my downfall." The passion in his voice was almost crushing John.

                        "I love you and that is what people who love each other do." John whispered dismissively, putting his hand on Sherlock's face.

                        "It's more than that. It's more than the ordinary sort of thing you're making it out to be. You're not ordinary at all. When I said you were a brilliant conductor of light even I didn't know how true it was." Sherlock's entire body was tight. "You are the reason I am not _him_."

                        "Sherlock…" John whispered, blushing some.

                        "So _damned adorable_ ," Sherlock whispered his mouth again only inches from John's. "Just this morning you were threatening the whole of the British government and yet now you're putty in my hands." He growled in a deeply desirous and possessive way as he crushed John to him, their passion threatening to overwhelm them both.

            Sherlock just let himself go and he grew more determined and needy with each kiss he pressed against John's mouth. He shoved his fingers against the buttons on his shirt, pulling at them and growling in frustration when they resisted his work. John groaned the pure desire and love radiating off Sherlock and threatening to drown him if he stopped kissing the detective, but he also felt his heart pounding against his rib cage. He was terrified Sherlock would suddenly stop again, that he was going to restrain himself once more. John felt himself completely dissolve into the moment despite the fact that it was all so very sudden and oh so very needy, because he needed it just as much. And that was them wasn't it? All fumbling and bad timing, finding a lead on a case or out running a bad guy, and suddenly needing the other, suddenly desiring to share that adrenaline with the other half of themselves. This time there was no stopping it though and the kisses they were sharing were sending them both tumbling head first into dangerously inviting territory. Sherlock didn't even push his shirt all the way off when he finally got it unbuttoned; he was too much in a hurry to actually touch John's skin. Instead he slipped his hands under it to trace over the lines of his chest both of them moaning loudly as those cool fingers pressed into his warm flesh. John's mind went blank with need and he undid Sherlock's shirt using it to pull him back slightly, both of them panting hard.

                        "What are you..." John demanded but Sherlock cut him off, easily moving him to push him down on the couch.

                        "I need you John. I've needed you for too long and I've held back, you told me to stop but I didn't. I couldn't…" He growled, lowering himself down and kissing John again. "Now I can't stop myself anymore, not know that I realize everything that you have done for me; now that I truly realize all that you are." John grunted as Sherlock clawed into his chest, kissing him again. "Now that I finally realize you are the only one _worthy_ of the things I have struggled against my whole life." His voice was a soft but passionate whisper.

                        "Not out here." John grunted, trying to stay rational but an ache building in his groin. Bedroom," John ordered and Sherlock teetered on the edge of his own rationality. He wanted to ravage John exactly where he was, but he conceded. Getting up he strode into the bedroom without hesitation pulling his shirt off on the way.

                        "Get in here, _now_." John groaned at the pure desire in the detective's voice as he too strode the distance to the bedroom. He instantly found himself slammed back against the door and Sherlock's eyes burned into his with possessiveness, need, lust, desire, and love. He was panting as he looked John over, searching his face for signs of hesitation or fear. "I want you." He growled again, kissing and nipping at his neck. "I want to claim you."

                        "Jesus Sherlock," John grunted, clawing into his back as he continued to lathe kisses and nips up and down John's neck. "Why have you waited so bloody long?" John's voice was desperate as Sherlock bit down hard, he groaned and shouted Sherlock's name.

                        "I didn't think you were ready to go that far." He pulled back, searching John's eyes again. He then leaned in and suckled on the spot he'd bitten, clearly working at leaving a love bite.

                        "Oh for fuck's sake," John's groan was pure desire as he hooked one hand in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock groaned into his neck.

                        "God I love it when you curse like that. So uninhibited, so completely lost in your desire that you cannot control yourself or your mouth," Sherlock grinned, pushing John back on the bed. He instantly had John's trousers off, throwing them to the side carelessly. His hands running over John's legs and over his quite noticeable erection as he returned to suckling on the spot on his neck.

                        "You're going to leave a mark." It was a statement, not a concern.

                        "That's the point. I'm going to leave all sorts of marks." Sherlock grinned darkly, grabbing a fistful of John's hair and biting down on the spot again.

                        "Sherlock!" John hissed. "Fuck!"

                        "This is how it's going to be John. If you're going to be mine I'm going to mark you. Every single time," His voice was firm against John's ear, his hands stroking John over his pants. "Everyone will know, no more hiding it." His voice was a little sing-song like as he bit down gently over John's ear.

                        "God you're a tease! Fucking touch me!" John demanded, moving to grab Sherlock with his left hand, but Sherlock smirked and pinned his arms to the bed.

                        "You'll have to be more specific, John." The look in his eyes was pure dominance and possession, pure lust and it snapped John's mind in half. He groaned with need.

                        "USE ME!" John shouted, rather surprised at himself but so desperate to feel what Sherlock had been holding back he didn't care anymore.

                        "What?" Both of them were panting hard, John harder than Sherlock but both of them stared deeply into the others eyes.

                        "Use me Sherlock. Have you way with me. Claim me!" John commanded him, but he shouted as Sherlock unceremoniously shredded his pants and threw the tatters to the floor. Sherlock lowered down and took John in his mouth, causing him to quiver. "Oh fucking hell Sherlock, what…" John thrashed and moved to grab Sherlock's head.

                        "Keep your arms at your sides or I'll handcuff you." Sherlock growled, pinning his hands harder.

                        "You can't just tell me I can't touch you." John whimpered.

                        "I'm not kidding." Sherlock stood and there was a chink of metal as the handcuffs landed on the bed. Sherlock placed a small black bag on the edge of the bed where he could reach it but John couldn't look into it.

                        "Fucking hell," John's breath hitched in his chest again. John watched transfixed as Sherlock was suddenly out of his trousers and slowly slid his pants down. He was gorgeous. John groaned at the sight and had never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life. He moved without thinking and suddenly found himself on his stomach with his hands pinned behind his back in handcuffs.

                        "I said not to move." A growl in his ear, darkness of tone, and a clear note of pleasure poured forth from Sherlock as he spoke.

                        "You're amazingly skilled at this considering," John teased. He then grunted and groaned as a sharp smack landed across his bare ass.

                        "I can break you right now if you want. Make you my pet. But that's not what I'm after." Sherlock sat back and mused, running his nails over John's now red ass cheek. "But it seems like you're into punishment, aren't you Captain?" There was a laugh in his voice that was purely indecent, another spank, and this time on the other side followed by another desperate groan. "God look at you…" Nails dug into his hips as Sherlock moved.

                        "Fuck me Sherlock, please!" The words flew out of his mouth and stunned both of them into silence for a moment.

                        "You realize what you're asking me?" Sherlock whispered, flipping John onto his back. His arm ached from the position but he didn't care.

                        "Yes." John grunted as Sherlock's fingers caressed over his entire body again. "I want to see you lose control over the thing you fight the hardest. I want to see what happens when you let me in."

            Sherlock sat there, his eyes burning into John's as he panted hard. He was so desperate to just give in and do what John was asking, but he also knew this might be John's first time. His eyes twitched slightly and John smiled.

                        "Stop thinking Sherlock. This isn't the time for thinking. You said you were going to claim me, so fucking do it!" He grunted as Sherlock slicked cold lube over the entire length of his ass, slipping his fingers down to trace the length of him as he explored John's body. John grunted again as fingers worked and teased the tense but sensitive muscle, slowly pushing their way in and caressing every inch of him they could reach. John started to say something but it became wordless muttering as Sherlock expertly teased him.

                        "I won't be able to stop." Sherlock whispered.

                        "I don't fucking care." John groaned, bucking against Sherlock's movements.

                        "So beautiful," Sherlock whispered, leaning down and kissing John fully.

            John kissed him back as fervently as he could, wishing he could touch him and being driven mad by the restraints. Sherlock pulled his fingers away from their work and slid them back to unlock the handcuffs, granting John his unspoken wish. He then retrieved a condom which he put on almost in one motion, surprising John again with his knowledge of sex. But before John had time to truly register his thoughts he was suddenly back, claiming John's mouth in deeply lustful kisses. John groaned his name as he felt him press against him, slowly pushing his way in, little by little, until John no longer knew where he stopped and Sherlock began. A tremor ran through John's body that was only accentuated when Sherlock suddenly started moving. _Oh Gods he's really inside me, Sherlock's cock is inside of me_ , John's mind reeled. He clawed Sherlock to himself the two of them clawing and pulling at each other as they kissed and Sherlock worked John over. Sherlock leaned up and growled as he raked his nails down John's chest leaving trails. He could feel John's body clenching around him, how tight he was, how close to release he was.

                        "Watch me." He commanded. "Watch me give you want you want, John." John couldn't have disobeyed if he wanted to, his attention becoming fully focused on the fact that he could just see how Sherlock's hard cock was pounding away at his tender ass.

            The sensuality of it all, the passion in Sherlock's eyes, and the incredible feeling of Sherlock filling him up crashed through his body and he shook hard. Every muscle in his body started to tense as his body pleaded with Sherlock for release. Sherlock could see that John was about to lose control and he leaned down claiming John's lips in feverish kisses as he slammed harder and hard into him. Just as the first time Sherlock had made John orgasm he captured his lovers release by kissing him firmly when he shot over the edge. Sherlock growled into this kiss as Johns shouted his name, muffled by the unbroken kisses, and both of them tumbled into release. Three waves of John's hot cum shot over their chests as they just rode out the wave of their joint release. When they finally broke the kiss both of them were panting and covered in a fine layer of sweat. Sherlock braced himself up over John, not moving for the moment to give John a chance to wrap his mind around what had happened. They searched each other's eyes for a long time before Sherlock slowly and carefully pulled out of John and moved into the bathroom. He returned just a few minutes later with a warm wet towel and gently, lovingly cleaned off John's chest before cleaning himself off. He tossed the towel on the floor with their clothing and crawled back in the bed, mounting John and gently pressing kisses over every scratch or mark he'd left on his body. It was almost like he was apologizing for having hurt him but each mark tingled and made John's flagging arousal rush back through his body.

                        "Fuck you are incredible." John whispered, still panting for breath and shaking.

                        "You're mine." Sherlock growled in reply, kissing him.

                        "There's no doubt about that." John grinned, but blushed.

                        "You always orgasm so hard for me," He whispered, kissing him again. "If you're not careful you'll give me a bigger ego."

                        "Impossible," John smirked tiredly. "In order for me to do that you would have to have room for your ego to get bigger."

            Sherlock's soft laugh echoed in his ear as he moved and slid down next to him. Sherlock wrapped him in an embrace that was simply _perfect_ , John fit in his arms like they'd been made for each other. Sherlock let his nails scratch against the sensitive skin of John's scalp as he toyed with his hair, blowing his breath across the very purple love bite on his neck. John muttered something before trying to shake off his tiredness.

                        "Are you even tired?"

                        "Are you kidding me, of course I am." Sherlock said quietly, his voice right in John's ear. "After that much pent up desire being expressed in so short a time?" He grinned. "You'd better rest before I recover." His voice held a teasing smirk.

                        "We'll see just how much stamina you have." John grinned but his tiredness was apparent.

                        "I think we've established that I'm in control here." Sherlock pulled John's hair hard and John moaned.

                        "And God help me, I love it." John smirked, snuggling in closer to Sherlock before drifting to sleep.


	8. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets into the Christmas Spirit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super fluffy chapter but it was necessary! I wrote this chapter around the time the US got our air date announcement for Series 3 and it just poured into the work.

          Lestrade walked up to the bench Sherlock was sitting on and offered him a coffee from the hospital cafe. Sherlock took it without looking at his friend, his eyes fixed on John through the wide windows before him as John went through some stretches with the new Physical Therapist.

                        "Another new one? What did the last one do?" Lestrade laughed as he sat down.

                        "She was an idiot." He replied monotone, his attention unwavering.

                        "Aren't they all?" Sherlock smirked slightly but his eyes burned into John's form. "Yea, speaking of John, you know you can't keep doing that right?" He quirked an eyebrow as Sherlock turned to him.

                        "Doing _what_ exactly?"

                        "Don't be stupid, you know what." As if on cue John reached up and scratched his neck.

                        "Oh," No emotion in his voice, just blankness.

                        "I know _why_ you do it, but it's unprofessional Sherlock. You two can't be called out to crime scenes with him done up like that. It's been there for two weeks now and it's almost black, which means you're not letting it heal." He sipped his coffee. "That's how things worked before, when someone was marked as property. That's not how it works out here."

                        "He likes it." It was offered as a simple reply.

                        "I know he does." Sherlock turned to him with surprise on his face. "But Sherlock, it's a Dom sign. You're not in that culture anymore." He sighed. "You two think you're really clever don't you? You think we don't see what you two do, but we all see it. Watch him, really watch him. The moment he thinks no one is looking he'll reach up and run his finger over it." Sherlock kept his body turned towards Lestrade, continuing to give the impression they were talking. Meanwhile the therapist had walked away from John and he was standing there alone. It took about a minute before he slowly reached up and gently ran one finger over the love bite, a faraway look in his eyes. It was very brief however as the therapist returned and started talking to him again.

                        "That's odd, I knew he did that at the manor, but I hadn't actually seen him do that at the Yard."

                        "He only does it when he is absolutely convinced no one is watching. He doesn't want us to ask. In fact he gets pretty miffed about it if we do. But he's not the only one who does something like that, is he?"

                        "I have no idea what you mean."

                        "Yes you do. Hey, I've been your friend for what almost seven years now? You know I watch you. I have to make sure you don't end up back out there on the street, when you think no one is watching you pull his tags between your top two buttons." The smirk on Lestrade's face did nothing to ease the slight anger that grew in Sherlock's stomach.

                        "So then what is 'proper' or 'professional,' Lestrade? Obviously you have something in mind or else you wouldn't have even put effort into this conversation." Sherlock's voice was abrasive but softer than it would have been previously. Lestrade sighed, he'd hit a nerve.

                        "Look, I wasn't trying to upset you. I know you want him to stay beside you for work and I know why you're doing it. I know what it's meant to say. I know it's meant to be a sign to the world not to mess with John Watson because you will get the violent end of Sherlock Holmes' temper. But maybe you could get him a necklace or a ring or something. Something a little more permanent that doesn't equate to you hurting him or remind us all that you two are shagging each other senseless," He finished his coffee and looked up at Sherlock.

                        "A ring?" Sherlock watched him carefully as he thought. Clearly he felt Lestrade was implying something specific.

                        "It doesn’t have to be something like that." Lestrade blushed slightly and launched into an explanation but Sherlock held up his hand.

                        "Actually, maybe _exactly_ like that. Interesting thought Lestrade. Thank you." Sherlock sat forward putting his fingers under his chin and returning his full attention to John. Lestrade just shook his head. He knew that Sherlock's attention was gone.

                        "Donovan should be done checking in with our witness. I'll see you two later, yea?"

                        "At the Yard yes, when he's had lunch," He replied calmly, he noticed that John was no longer in front of the window and was trying to determine just where he'd gone, when John spoke from beside him.

                        "When _we've_ had lunch he means." John smirked as he came out. "Thanks for sitting with him." He smiled at Lestrade but his face was tightened with emotion, clearly showing that he was annoyed by something.

                        "Yea, no problem," Lestrade just shook his head and walked off.

                        "What's wrong?" Sherlock looked up at John, standing fluidly as he did.

                        "I'm done with this." He sighed in frustration. "She's no better than the last two and had absolutely nothing new to offer. I'm tired of coming here." His shoulders were slumped, there was more too it but Sherlock just let it go.

                        "Is that a trait of doctors?" Sherlock asked, teasing. "Not wanting another doctor's opinion?"

                        "Git," John growled. "I'm serious."

                        "Alright John, I won't make you come back - but if you do not improve remarkably within the next few weeks we will revisit this issue."

                        "Thank you. Let's go get lunch."

            Two weeks later Christmas was fully upon them. They had remained isolated at the estate, not returning to physical therapy or the Yard after that afternoon. Instead preferring to work alone, reviewing the case files, and generally avoiding anyone but each other's company. It had been a welcome respite for John, but he knew that Sherlock was likely going to go stir crazy at any moment. The week of Christmas they received a visitor - Lestrade. He came to visit, claiming he needed a holiday and was going to remain with them for the week. He arrived two days before Christmas with several items from 221B, including a solid black case that he gave to John and John secreted away before Sherlock could even begin to guess what was inside. He'd also explained that Kitty had seemingly disappeared from the 'radar' for the last week, seemingly pointing to the fact that the world was giving the consulting lovers a break. Christmas Eve they sat up until wee hours of the drinking and talking. John was the first to head to bed, claiming tiredness but really just tired of the conversation and how it focused on his and Sherlock's romantic entanglement. Sherlock only went to bed when Lestrade said he couldn't stay up any longer, which was just a few hours before sunrise, which was also why he was still blissfully asleep when the sound of someone playing the violin reached his ears and forced him back into the realm of reality. He sat straight up in bed, completely confused and somewhat intrigued as the hesitant notes drifted through the house. As he had poured himself in bed still fully dressed he hesitated only to slip on socks before rushing out into the main part of the house. He was momentarily surprised when he realized John was not in bed, but a sort of awed smile played on his face as the realization that John might be the one playing drifted into his mind. Absolutely overwhelmed with curiosity he burst into the living room only to be met by a sudden burst of cold air. The doors to the garden were open, though a fire crackled away in the hearth, and John sat at the table just outside the doors. His face was relaxed, eyes closed, and he was fully dressed. He was wearing the longer coat Sherlock had forced him to get, his hair already neatly arranged for the day, and a smile fixed on his face. Sherlock stood perfectly still, transfixed by the sight before him as John raised the bow to a violin he'd never seen before and began to softly play. The piece he was playing was one that Sherlock often played when he was thinking, but slightly different. His eyes scanned his lovers form, taking in every tiny detail as John played on seemingly unaware of the attention. Sherlock leaned back against the doorway, ignoring the cold biting at his skin and watched with rapt attention for almost ten minutes before John opened his eyes to adjust something and saw he had an audience. His face turned five different shades of red and he hastily put the violin away, blushing and swallowing hard.

                        "When did you learn to play?" Sherlock whispered, moving forward out into the garden and ignoring the snow under his socks. His face betraying the pleasure he was feeling. _This man_...

                        "After..." John sighed and looked down, as if expecting Sherlock to goad him. "I learnt after you left. I missed the sound of you playing and Baker Street felt so empty without it. So I bought a violin and used the internet to learn to play. I sort of thought it might upset you so I didn't think to bring my violin with me, but when I looked over yours last week I realized I couldn't bear to touch it myself to practice. I talked to Lestrade while we were at the Yard last and asked him to bring it the next time he came out this way."

                        "Why wouldn't you want me to know?" Sherlock asked quietly as John gently guided him back into the house, case in hand, as he got the two of them out of the biting cold. He slid the door closed as he replied, trying to keep his voice even.

                        "I figured you would think it was too sentimental." He turned back to survey Sherlock, analyzing everything about him. "It's your thing, I just..." He shrugged.

                        "It's brilliant." He replied, smiling and blushing slightly. "You're not bad considering you didn't have as much training as I have."

                        "I think that's a compliment." He giggled softly.

                        "It is." John was taken aback by the sort of breathless quality Sherlock's voice had. "I would never have expected you to do this." He was blushing slightly as he looked down at him. That was Sherlock for you though, always determined not to see how much John thought of him.

                        "I guess that's part of my charm isn't it?" They both laughed, trying to keep their voices down as they did. “I keep doing the things you don’t expect me to do.” Sherlock kissed John softly as they kept trying not to laugh louder.

                        "I'm already up, so don't worry." Lestrade grinned from the edge of the hallway, laughing as both of them blushed and started slightly. "He's spent hours practicing, you know. Mrs. Hudson used to get so angry. I think he had seven noise complaints from her."

                        "Oh piss off, tattletale." John said softly, looking down, but he blushed and looked somewhat pleased.

                        "Why would she be angry?" Sherlock looked momentarily confused.

                        "Well you start off pretty poorly, right?" John was clearly embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck. The move was so adorable Sherlock almost swept him into his arms. "I was pretty bad, but I wouldn't give up. I couldn't give up." Determination crossed his face and Sherlock had to fight not to blush himself. "It got to the point where she bought me a series of lessons just to get me to play somewhere that wasn't the flat. So I..." John suddenly turned very red and looked down muttering.

                        "You what," Sherlock asked quietly, Lestrade heading into the bathroom.

                        "I went to the cemetery..." John's face was tight. "I practiced... Where you could…” John was very red and looked away. 

                        “You sentimental idiot.” Sherlock whispered, leaning in and kissing him hard. His hands finding their way into John’s hair, “You’re absolutely incredible and incorrigible.” He laughed. “I have never met another person like you and I never will. I love you.” He smirked.

                        "You really aren't upset?" He whispered in reply, their foreheads touching.

                        "No. I... I just never realized how much I meant to you." His eyes burned into John's but the blush came back to his cheekbones. "I always thought things were so one sided, but I should have known better. The signs were always in front of me and I was just oblivious to them."

                        “You’re in quite a mood this morning.” Lestrade said softly as he padded back into the room. Sherlock pulled away from John and seemed to float about the room as he moved, tidying up case files and straightening everything up.

                        “I think he's just enjoying the ego boost.” John said dismissively. “We ought to get dressed; Mrs. Hudson and Molly should be here shortly.”

                        "No, this is definitely more than an ego boost. Those are what he gets when you compliment him at crime scenes." Lestrade laughed and John giggled.

                        "Oh sod off, both of you. It is Christmas!" Sherlock dismissed their words. "John's right, we should get decent before they arrive."

            Sherlock and John went into their room and once the door was close John took Sherlock’s hand, forcing him to look at him. He leaned back against the door, pulling Sherlock into an easy embrace.

                        “Greg is right, what’s gotten into you?” His voice caught as he looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, which were glassed over. He spoke in a whisper; to be sure they weren't overheard.

                        “You, in a manner of speaking,” He teased but his voice was still soft, still in awe and shock. “I never would have imagined you learning to play the violin John. I really,” He sighed. “I underestimated you. I never thought I would have to say that, but I have. I thought I of all people had the measure of who you were. But this emotion, this tenderness,” His voice was soft as he cupped John’s cheek. “It’s beyond what I could have suspected from you. It's above and beyond anything that I would have expected from anyone. I really never deserved so much affection.” He cuddled into John, running his mouth over his neck and tightening his arms around him as he moaned.

                        “Sherlock, Greg is just in the other room.” John hissed in barely a whisper.

                        “Then keep quiet.” Sherlock smirked. He clawed into John’s hair and lathed attention over the purple spot on his neck, listening to him groan quietly. The spot was almost permanently purple.

                        “We can’t.” John laughed softly, pulling Sherlock off him and kissing him deeply. “We have company.”

                        “Oh spoil my fun.” He sighed as a pout but smiled.

            The two of them showered together and then dressed, returning to the living room just in time to hear a knock on the door. Greg was in the kitchen and the kettle had just finished boiling. John let Mrs. Hudson and Molly in, both of them carrying trays of pasties. They set everything down and greeted the boys warmly, before they all settled around the dining room table with tea and breakfast.

                        “Well, the secrets out.” Lestrade laughed, John blushed. “John finally let Sherlock know he plays.”

                        “Oh, isn’t he wonderful?” Mrs. Hudson gushed. “Of course you’re so much better, but the way he plays…”

                        “Did he tell you he’s learned different parts than you play?” Molly asked softly, grinning.

                        “No.” Sherlock said with a smirk. John could tell Sherlock was trying to act ‘normal.’ “Is this true John?”

                        “Oh don’t.” John choked on his tea. "Molly, we had a deal." John raised an eyebrow.

                        "Oh come on." She grinned. "We all know you did it so you two could play together one day."

                        "Did you really?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and John turned very red.

                        "So, is everything alright at the flat?" John forced out, looking at Mrs. Hudson and almost begging for her to change the conversation. She patted his arm.

                        "Oh yes dear. Mycroft had a couple of his men come over and help straighten up. They come by to check on me every few days." Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Though there was a gas leak reported last week. The gas company sent a team out to look over the flats."

                        "Before this day ends you and I will play a duet." Sherlock said darkly in John's ear before sweeping off into the kitchen.

                        "Sherlock, what are you playing at? You're never a gracious host like this, usually you're all wrapped up in the arm chair, your collar popped up and an angry look on your face." Lestrade said suddenly and all of them laughed. "Donovan's coming later yea, so if you're playing any pranks let's get it out of the way now."

                        "No, no pranks." He smirked broadly. "It's Christmas!" He announced it again, holding out his arms grandly. He wrinkled his face the way he did when he was saying something he expected to be 'normal' and no one else seemed to be going along with it. "Consequently Greg, may I borrow you for a moment?" Sherlock raised his eyebrow again.

                        "Oh, this will be good." Lestrade said softly, standing and following Sherlock into the bedroom.

                        "There is absolutely no work today!" John yelled after them, with his normal 'I do have authority here, I do,' voice.

            Sherlock and Lestrade stepped into the office and Sherlock closed the door. Sherlock looked positively nervous and it took all Lestrade had not to laugh.

                        "I need to ask your opinion on something." He crossed his arms, bringing his attention to bear on Lestrade.

                        "What's going on Sherlock, you're acting weird."

                        "I've been debating what we discussed at the hospital and the more I think about it the more I feel like I should propose to John. But it seems..." He fished for the proper word. "Trite. It seems like it's not enough."

                        "Sherlock, when you think about John does it make you feel incredibly happy and yet like you have a deep ache at the thought of all the things that could happen to him?"

                        "Well yes. I worry about him constantly."

                        "Well you love him, so that's a step in the right direction." He smiled.

                        "Don't tease me Greg." Sherlock snapped.

                        "Oh Lord, you're serious aren't you? You only call me Greg when it's serious." He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "If he died would it kill you?"

                        "Yes."

                        "And does the thought of someone else taking him make you upset?"

                        "Yes, of course!" He was about to lose his temper.

                        "Then you should ask him." Sherlock snapped his attention back up, looking a bit child like.

                        "You don't think it's too sudden?"

                        "No. Trust me, he isn't planning on going anywhere." He laughed. "Otherwise he would have left Baker Street when he thought you were dead."

                        "I think I should ask him when we're alone. Am I supposed to ask someone for permission or something?" Lestrade laughed again.

                        "Sherlock, you're actually adorable like this. You really have no idea about any of this do you?"

                        "Damn it Lestrade, don't be an idiot." Sherlock tapped his foot anxiously.

                        "You'd only ask a girl's family. I don't think it applies the same here. Either way I don't think John would care what Harry thought anyway. But if I were you I'd clear it through Mycroft."

                        "I don't care what he says I will do it anyway. Do you think I should ask in front of everyone?"

                        "No. While that would be something to see, I think it would embarrass John to no end and I think it would send the wrong message. It's not you to just do something like that out in front of everyone."

                        "I'm going to ask him tonight. I think asking him this is one of the best decision I will ever make."

                        "If you really think so," Lestrade's voice carried softly into the room as the door opened.

                        "I would be foolish otherwise, wouldn't I?" Sherlock replied in a hushed tone.

                        "Well I certainly think so." He grinned as they walked over to join the others.

                        "How is your arm doing?" Molly asked softly.

                        "It's getting  better; I mean I can play again. But it's nothing like it should be." He sighed and looked down at the table. "I don't think the physical therapy is helping, but I highly doubt that that I can gain a full recovery without some more." John looked up as Sherlock started back towards the living room.

                        "Will Mycroft be joining us?" Mrs. Hudson asked softly.

                        "I don't know. I," John smirked. "I did mention that we were having you all here and told him what time, so we will see."

            Sherlock gently squeezed John's shoulder as he passed by, headed back into the kitchen. They heard him mucking about with the kettle and when he arrived at the table with mugs, tea bags, and the things necessary for tea they all sank into a pleasant conversation.

                        "I can't believe that this time last year..." Lestrade's voice was tight.

                        "Seems like it was so long ago." Mrs. Hudson added softly.

                        "Better this year, yea?" John smiled. Someone knocked on the door and Lestrade opened it to reveal Sally carrying in a tray of food.

                        "I'll help." Molly smiled and jumped up, Mrs. Hudson followed her. The three women waved the men off as they made several trips out to the car.

                        "What is this?" John asked softly, looking around the now empty room.

                        "Mycroft and I arranged food to be catered, Sally volunteered to pick it up on her way in as she needed to finalize a case." Sherlock offered quietly, standing beside John.

                        "I should help." John smiled and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

                        "No, you should remain inside." Mycroft's voice cut through the room.

                        "Why..." John put his hand on Sherlock's chest to stop him.

                        "I didn't think you would join us." Sherlock said softly, his eyes locking with his brother's.

                        "I found myself without other engagements." Mycroft said with a small smirk.

                        "I'm..." Sherlock smiled. "Glad you came."

                        “Alright bloody hell has frozen over or I died. Which is it?” John demanded but Sherlock only smiled.

                        “John, I keep telling you it’s Christmas. Maybe this last year has taught me to be more appreciative of those we have around us. Leave it at that for now, okay?” Sherlock turned to Mycroft. "I have something we need to discuss with Lestrade."

                        “Okay now he’s just being suspicious.” John sighed and helped the others set the table.

                        "Sherlock, this sudden change in behavior is alarming." Mycroft said softly, as they stepped into the office and Lestrade closed the door.

                        "There are two things we need to discuss and I need your full attention. Which is why we are discussing it now." Sherlock launched into explanation, assuming his normal countenance. "The first is that I intend to ask John to marry me."

                        "What?" Mycroft's eyes went wide as he looked at his brother. "I thought you said marriage was a contrived affair with no real meaning."

                        "It is a contrived affair, however it is also a necessary evil. As you have no doubt noticed and been annoyed by, John bears a mark on his neck."

                        "Yes, I believe they call it a 'Dom Mark' or so I am told. It's very crude of you."

                        "Yes, so I have been told." Sherlock snapped, angry for being interrupted. "So I have decided that an alternate method is needed. Naturally with the press breathing down our backs if I gave John a ring they would automatically assume we were engaged. A ring will also present the same message as the mark to those who are looking for it. It also means that if anything were to happen to either of us we would be able to maintain control over the other's health, financial, and legal issues. Something I feel will be important if John and I are to begin working together as detectives."

                        "Well, you seem to have thought it out at least." Mycroft paced a few steps. "Alright Sherlock, if anything I can say for certain that John Watson's loyalty to you has and will never waver. It is not what I ever expected to have happen but I would be happy to stand beside you as you commit yourself to John." A rare smile graced Mycroft's face and Sherlock actually returned it. Lestrade was surprised.

                        "Thank you." Sherlock paced faster. "So for the second issue. The web is tightening and it is going to break before long. We need to return to Baker Street."

                        "It's a trap Sherlock." Mycroft warned.

                        "I know. I understand completely what is happening but in order for the web to be destroyed we will have to play into it."

                        "Wait, are you suggesting we use John as bait?" Lestrade was preparing to lecture Sherlock.

                        "It was John's idea." Sherlock cut him off. "He has a fairly logical point about it as well. If we stay here out of sight and out of reach it gives the controller a chance to change the plan. She's not clever enough on her own, but if she connects with enough of the right people we may lose our advantage. If we seemingly play into her plan, then we gain the upper hand on her."

                        "But John is in mortal danger if we do that."

                        "A fact he readily accepts Lestrade." Sherlock growled, crossing his arms. "But we have little time left to play this game and even fewer options. I believe that this is the best course of action."

                        "We will need a means of tracking him, since it seems likely he will be taken."

                        "He will be. Mrs. Hudson doesn't even realize it. The gas leak was a cover, they've set some sort of trap for us at Baker Street which will be activated on New Year's day just after midnight. The timing will be exact, so that is some relief. John and I have already worked out the entire detail of the plan and he is aware of the risk involved."

                        "I don't like this Sherlock." Lestrade growled.

                        "Nor do I, but I believe that John's logic in this instance is sound. Just tell me what you need." Mycroft sighed.

            A short while the three men returned to the main room where John was sitting comfortably on the couch listening to Sally talk about a case the Yard had recently completed. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were sitting in dining room chairs on one side of the living room watching the room carefully.

                        “At least neither of you is bloodied.” John said softly, looking up at the three men as they entered the room fully.

                        “Don’t be so dramatic John.” Mycroft said dismissively as he took a seat on the couch.

            The afternoon passed slowly and around tea time they all started in on the food. John noticed with a smirk that Mycroft seemed to only be interested in talking to Lestrade, the two of them sitting off to one side of the room deep in discussion. Sherlock kept moving about the room rapidly, watching everyone and avoiding proximity with anyone. It took awhile but John finally got his arm and spun him down, so he fell across his lap. He kissed him softly, well aware everyone could see and waited until Sherlock stopped fighting before he spoke.

                        “You’ve figured something out.” He whispered into those dark curls, nuzzling his mouth towards Sherlock's ear, blushing some but ignoring the others for the moment.

                        “You’re learning quickly.” Sherlock’s smirk was plainly visible as he leaned into John.

                        “I have nothing else to do, so I’d better be.” He laughed as he replied.

                        “I did figure something out, no I can’t tell you yet, and yes I will tell you when I can.” They both began to laugh, drawing everyone's attention. Sherlock flushed just slightly, but stood and moved about grandly to draw attention away from the sudden bout of affection he and John had just publicly shared. “Presents are in order I think.”

                        “Oh God…” John laughed, smirking as Sherlock made a face at him. John held up his hands almost in surrender. "I'm not taking credit for a word that comes out of your mouth on this."

                        "Presents? John, I don't know whether we should hit you or kiss you." Lestrade laughed as Sherlock tutted, pulling out a red bag.

                        “For my brother,” He handed Mycroft a small box. “I was going to buy you a new umbrella, since you seem so keen on using the old one as a walking stick - but I was told that was bad form. So instead I bought you this.” It was a pair of cuff links that were Union Jacks. They were rather tacky which made Lestrade laugh. “For Lestrade, a new watch to replace the one I broke by throwing it into the Thames in a fit. For which I am supposed to apologize and perhaps one day shall.” Sherlock offered the box, Lestrade was definitely giggling now. “For Molly a bracelet as a token of esteem and for her help in many ways, seen and unseen.” Molly blushed slightly taking her box. “Mrs. Hudson, a necklace to replace the one I experimented on, for which I should have apologized and asked permission but didn't." Sherlock's lines sounded rehearsed and each new gift made them all giggle more. "Sally, I know that you think I am a freak and that I don't notice anything positive about you, but I do. This is just a small token of my appreciation for all that you have done for John and for putting up with my insults." He handed her a card, it was a gift card for her favorite store. She blushed slightly. "Honestly I had chosen better gifts, but John assured me they were all rude and uncalled for so you should direct your thanks to him." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John blushed.

                        “Wow, this is beautiful…” Molly whispered, opening the box.

                        “What’s with all this feeling stuff?” Lestrade asked gruffly, downing his third beer.

                        “It's called familial tidings, Lestrade Surely you understand that?” Sherlock scolded and moved quickly to the corner of the room where he scooped up his violin and John's case.

                        “Sherlock, no,” John commanded, turning redder.

                        “Oh yes.” He replied setting the case down in front of John and staring him directly in the eyes. “Come on now, our friends want to hear us play.”

                        “Sherlock…” John was almost pleading. Sherlock was so much better than he was, he would sound like a child next to a master.

                        “Oh come on John, we all want to hear it.” Mrs. Hudson said encouraging him.

                        “Alright, alright…” He stood, blushing very red as he took up his violin. He refused to look at Sherlock for a long moment, checking the tune of his strings instead. But Sherlock moved so he was directly in front of John, forcing him to look up.

            They started playing exactly at the same moment, choosing the same song without a word spoken about it, completely in sync with each other. Their eyes burned into each other's as their music began to fill the room, drawing everyone watching into silence. It was a moment that seemed so innocent on the outside but was more telling of their relationship than any words could have been. They both sank into the melody, slowly closing their eyes as they let their fingers and memories eek out the music from the two instruments. John followed Sherlock effortlessly, though the two had never played together it was as if they had played together for all their lives. Even Mycroft was moved by the sound of the music, though the two of them only had eyes for each other as they played in concert. They switched between songs three times before John's arm grew too tired and his notes began to become sloppy. He finally sank down into a chair to a small round of applause as Sherlock continued to play. Eventually he could tell everyone was preparing to wrap up for the evening so he gently switched into the melody he'd written for John. John's face flushed as Sherlock's gaze met his, the passion of the song evident as he poured his heart into the song and it filtered out through the notes hanging in the air. As he played he was so focused on John he didn't see that the women had tears in their eyes and both Lestrade and Mycroft looked a bit uncomfortable at the emotion the music stirred within themselves. When he finally finished John looked down, blinking away several tears as Sherlock set his violin down. A smile played at his lips as he enjoyed how he could move John's heart so easily.

                        “Mrs. Hudson, John and I will be returning to Baker Street before New Year’s eve. We’d like to throw a small get together.” He said without looking at her.

                        “Alright I think the gas company will be done with the repairs by then.” She smiled.

                        “The gas company?” Sherlock and John asked together, the room erupting into laughter.

                        “Sherlock, don’t taint John. He’s perfect the way he is.” Lestrade teased, his face red from his drinking.

                        “Yes, I thought they'd finished the work but a woman rang yesterday and said they would need to come in one more time.”

                        “Very good, we can’t have John freezing to death in the flat.” Sherlock smiled but John knew the look in Sherlock's eyes. Everything they suspected was proving true.

            The evening wound on and finally only Mycroft and Lestrade were left visiting the lovers. Sherlock used the excuse of an overly tired John to escort him into the bedroom and close the door. Listening as Mycroft offered Lestrade a tour of the main house and the sound of the front door closing and locking echoed through the guest house. He pushed John against the door, kissing him roughly before guiding him to the bed. John smirked and shimmied away from Sherlock aware that Sherlock was not tired yet. He went about his nightly routine before sitting on the bed to pull off his trousers. Sherlock disappeared into the bathroom for a moment before returning, his form just a shape in the darkness as they had not bothered to turn on the lights. He swept through the room lighting several candles that John hadn't noticed previously before walking back to John's side.  He sat down on the bed and turned to face him.

                        “Thank you for putting yourself on the line again.” He whispered, nuzzling into John’s shoulder. “I know it will be…”

                        “We have a plan Sherlock, it’ll be okay.” John whispered, hugging Sherlock close.

                        "You play very well." He whispered.

                        "Nothing like you though."

                        "No, but that's good." He paused for a long time before speaking, John could almost feel the tension in his body.    “John,” Sherlock’s voice was full of emotion. “You have become my light in the darkness,” He whispered moving forward. “I’m not traditional, I’m not amazing, I am horrible at putting feelings into words, and if we're being honest well... I’m not even that wonderful of a partner.” He whispered moving so their eyes could meet. John could tell he had been waiting for this moment all day. Something he'd been bursting to share with John but had refused because the others were around. “You have been nothing short of spectacular to me. Always there, never faltering no matter what I have done. Even when everyone else turned away, you stayed beside me in the darkness. I have been informed that my desire to mark your neck repeatedly has been ruining our apparently extant professional appearance, and that if I am stupid enough to let you go I am doomed to die alone and hollow." John was blushing bright red, his breath shaking in his chest. Was Sherlock really going to ask him _that_? "So I've decided to go all in, as they say, and ask you the second most important question I think I will ever ask you." His voice was soft, full of the vulnerable emotion that he only let John see. Full of fear of rejection and yet a glimmer of hope. Their eyes searched each other's as they both analyzed every movement, breath, and word. "Will you marry me?" Sherlock handed John the box and watched as he opened it, the candle light glinting off the silver titanium ring. "It's likely to be very inconvenient." The ring held three small diamonds in the band.

                        “And dangerous?” John’s question was soft but his eyes burned into Sherlock’s.

                        “Very dangerous and quite frankly potentially lethal,” Sherlock smiled, pink on his cheeks. His breath hitched in his chest.

                        “And yet here I am.” He whispered as he leaned forward. He pulled the ring from the box and let Sherlock slide it on his finger.

                        “Ready for anything,” Sherlock whispered kissing him deeply.


	9. The Curtain Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys return to Baker Street, well aware that this will be their curtain call and the web will draw them in tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter includes descriptions of violence which will only intensify in the next one.

          Two days after Christmas the boys began to prepare for their return to Baker Street. John was especially excited to be going home and had been possessed of almost manic energy for the last two days. They, well he, started packing immediately knowing how difficult it would be to get Sherlock to pitch in. Sherlock had been the exact opposite of John for the last two days. And lethargic for most of the last twenty four hours, simply sprawled out over the edge of the couch barely moving and not speaking. John really felt he had every right to be angry about it but he wasn't, because he was just so glad to be going home. It also didn't hurt (if he left himself be honest) that every time he looked down at his hands he was reminded of just how Sherlock felt about him. Just how much Sherlock Holmes had suffered and gone through to allow John to be safe and happy. John reached up to card his hand through his hair absentmindedly, as he plotted how to pack Sherlock's things without garnering his anger. He was about to move when he Sherlock's eyes actually flicked over to him. The first movement the man had made in hours. John turned pausing with his hand in his hair and smirked as he followed Sherlock's gaze silently. He was reminding himself too, his attention focused on the ring. Then he snapped back to staring at the ceiling. John let him alone for another hour or so before walking over and straddling the detective on the couch. Sherlock gave him his annoyed look and clicked his tongue but John wasn't put off.

                        "Are you that bored?" He teased and Sherlock growled.

                        "I'm not bored, I'm..."

                        "I know you're on a case." John kissed him softly. "But do you think you could come back to reality with me for just a few minutes? I need to know what you want me to pack up today and what you will need until tomorrow."

                        "You can pack everything." He said grumpily, grabbing John's hand and running his finger over the ring.

                        "Sherlock, you're acting a lot like you did when we were leaving the hospital before. I'm not going anywhere. We've worked this all out, _you've_ worked this all out. You made me believe you'd killed yourself, this is much easier than that. How is this not going to work?" He furrowed his brow as he surveyed Sherlock, watching his face tighten as it did when he was _feeling_ something that he knew to be irrational.

                        "I'm anxious." He replied dismissively. "I feel like there is something I could be missing, something important. And if anything goes wrong you could be hurt or die. This isn't the same..." He was cut off mid-explanation as John's mouth found his and blew his train of thought to pieces. It was nice to have the quiet in his head for the moment and John was the only one who could ever cut through the chatter.

                        "That's what love is Sherlock. It's nerves and worry. It's jealousness and fear." He gently cupped the detectives cheek, their eyes still locked. "This is normal for any relationship and doubly so for ours, it's okay to be afraid. But you're brilliant, you're incredible, and you've figured this all out." John whispered, his mouth still very close to the detective's.

                        "This is normal?" He asked softly, incredulously. "This fear gnawing at my stomach, the anger roaring through my body?" He flipped their position so he was over John. "I have so many conflicting thoughts in my head. I want to mark you from head to toe, to pound you into this couch until it breaks, and yet I'm paralyzed by the fear that in two days it'll all be over and I'll really have no reason to keep on living." John was panting at the fiery look in Sherlock's eyes. It was so many things: dangerously primal, deliciously needy, and incredibly telling.

                        "That's what love does, it makes you mad. It's not going to be easy for us Sherlock. Danger is what we do. There is always someone trying to hurt us, to bring us down, to stop you." His nails gently dug into Sherlock's shoulders as Sherlock leaned down and claimed his mouth.

            Needless to say they didn't get any packing done at all that day. In fact they had barely shoved everything back into the bags the next day when Lestrade arrived to take them home. He could do nothing but shake his head at the state of the two of them. Both of them were disheveled, their clothing not in the normal crisp state it usually was. He could tell they hadn't slept in at least twenty four hours. Coupled with the fact that Sherlock was sporting a very dark purple love bite on his neck and John could have passed for a man who'd been choked with his choker of love bites; and Lestrade knew he was going to have to be more careful about just strolling into their flat. He helped them put their bags in the car and drove them back to Baker Street, helping them inside and surveying the flat while John took a moment to just absorb being home. Sherlock and Lestrade seemed to be looking for something specific so John just stayed out of their way, settling down in his arm chair. He smiled as he looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Mrs. Hudson came into sight. She had a tea tray in hand with some biscuits and two mugs.

                        “I made you some tea. I thought you might need after the trip and for unpacking.” She smiled as she fussed about the kitchen setting it down. “Oh!” She gushed suddenly as John reached up and scratched his nose. “When did that happen?” She asked happily and grabbed John’s hand to look over the ring.

                        “Christmas,” John replied blushing. He had forgotten no one had been around.

                        “Oh you two." She grinned as John scratched his neck. "Always shouting at each other and you can't possibly be without one another. You two will be the death of me. So I guess you'll be able to turn the other bedroom into an office now like you wanted." Mrs. Hudson was about to continue on but he cut her off.

                        "Oh it's fine Mrs. Hudson, I... I don't think we knew what we were in for." John blushed and fidgeted with the scarf now around his neck, covering the love bites.

                        "As always John is oblivious to the truths right in front of him." Sherlock teased, sweeping past them to his chair. He popped his coat collar up and sat in the chair glaring at the door, assuming his 'busy' routine again. They looked up as they heard footsteps on the stairs.

                        “I've checked over the information you sent me most recently and I am afraid I have to ask you again...  Is this really the best decision right now?" Mycroft asked in a tone that indicated he didn't agree.

                        “Yes, we’ve already discussed it.” John said defensively.

                        “Must you be so annoying,” Sherlock sighed. “And just when I’d thought we’d reached a new understanding.” Mrs. Hudson quickly took her level not wanting to see the brothers at it again.

                        “Sherlock, chide me if you must be we must take into consideration all of the facts.”

                        “The facts are glaringly obvious Mycroft. We know what’s going to happen. So now we have to act accordingly. So if you don’t mind John and I have some unpacking to do we meet for dinner to celebrate our engagement this evening.” Sherlock swept off into his room, taking both suitcases with him. John blushed but didn’t react otherwise.

                        “Charmingly sentimental when he feels like it.” Mycroft shook his head slightly. “John," There was a shift in Mycroft's face that John could only describe as sentiment. It was rather unnerving to have not just one, but both of the Holmes brothers showing some sort of concern about him. "You do understand the danger involved in this, don't you?”

                        “Yes Mycroft I do. I could die.” He said it as firmly as he could. His skin felt like it was crawling at this strange show of affection. “There is a lot of danger to this plan but at the end of the day I know two things. I will always believe in Sherlock and he loves me.” John nodded curtly. “Everything will be fine, we will discuss this more later. Till tonight then.” With that he marched off into the bedroom to find Sherlock sitting there with a slight blush on his face. “If I ever lose my ability to make you do that, I think I will just end my life.” John grinned.

                        “Bad timing,” Sherlock chided but kissed him all the same. He moved to say something when both their phones went off. They both looked confused, knowing that Mycroft had just left and ripped their phone from their pockets in haste.

_You two brilliant idiots - Happy New Year and congratulations Sherlock Holmes and John Watson-Holmes._

            There was no sign off but they didn’t need one. It was the message they had been expecting for awhile. The message that John knew Sherlock ached for every time his phone chimed. John didn't even try to hide the blush or argue with the fact he'd been the one given the hyphenated name. That was likely to be how it would work after all, he was the sentimental one. John cleared the notification, barely noting that it came from a blocked number and musing over whether or not Mycroft would try to trace it for just a moment before turning his attention to Sherlock. He had not expected the conflicted look on Sherlock's face, so easily taken aback by the emotion that the detective could no longer hide when the two of them were alone. He looked afraid, as if waiting for some expected reaction from John. Sherlock's eyes burned into John's face reading and deducing every inch of him to find an answer to the question burning in his mind. _Does this upset you?_ But John didn't answer instead he extended his left hand and let his palm come to rest over the dog tags under Sherlock's shirt, pressing them into his skin. Pressing his ring finger into the tags and giving him a knowing look. Sherlock relaxed instantly and a soft smile swept over his face.

                        "I... Thank you again." He whispered, swallowing hard.

                        “I would do anything for you.” John whispered softly, knowing that Sherlock was thanking him for something that didn't require those words.

                        “You do every day. You are definitely a unique paradox.” Sherlock smiled and kissed him hard. “And all mine.”

                        “Yes, but that’s obvious to everyone now isn’t it?” He giggled.

            They passed the day unpacking lazily before heading out to some restaurant that John would never had stepped foot in before. It was definitely expensive and John blushed at just the thought of Sherlock planning out the dinner ahead of them. The whole event had been a sort of secret, only half a secret because Mycroft and Lestrade had demanded they be let in on what was going to happen and Sherlock knew he needed a place they could trust to meet uninterrupted. He also knew he was expected to take his fiancée someplace special to celebrate their engagement. This dinner would allow him to do both and if he was lucky would let him try to resume some sort of normal life. Once he had forced John into a suit that John was quite sure he hadn't owned just the day before (during which Sherlock had laughed himself silly watching him get dressed) he wrapped John's coat around his shoulders and fixed a scarf around his neck before leading him out the door. A private car took them to the restaurantno doubt the one that Mycroft, who'd spent at least three afternoons discussing their deplorable reliance on cabs while they were away, forced on them. So he'd "given" them a car, which basically meant he and Sherlock had shouted back and forth until John accepted the car but made Mycroft agree to pay for the driver. Honestly, it was beginning to feel like having children with the two of them.

            John blushed more as Sherlock helped him out of the car, making sure his jacket and scarf were tidy and neat. A few photographers snapped pictures of them from across the road, but Sherlock's attention was completely on John. He smiled softly and escorted John inside and to a small room where Lestrade and Mycroft were already sitting and from the look of it partially through their first glasses of wine. John snorted with a laugh and slid down in his seat.

                        "This is quite a lot of money to put out, to talk about a case Sherlock." John teased him softly.

                        “We needed some place private to discuss things and well we did just get engaged after all.” Sherlock’s grin was full of mischief.

                        “Right,” John just shook his head, blushing. Maybe someday he would actually stop blushing about the fact that he was going to belong completely to Sherlock Holmes until death do them part, but it wouldn't be today apparently.

                        “Speaking of, I forgot to congratulate you lot on your engagement earlier.” Lestrade grinned. “Are you sure you can put up with this for the rest of your life?” He laughed and John giggled.

                        “The sad fact is, he is my life. I could try to lie about it, but it would just upset him and he'd call us boring. ” John grinned and  they sank into silence for a few minutes.

                        “So what has changed?” Sherlock sighed impatiently. "Why do you suddenly want to know what's going on? I thought you all were going to let us handle it."

                        “We’ve seen a lot of activity around three warehouses by various members of a gang that she seems to be in contact with. So we’re fairly certain that one of them is the base of operations.” Lestrade set a case file on the table. "So I want you to tell me what they're planning to do with all of this stuff they've been loading up the last few days." Lestrade crossed his arms.

                        “Home Office has informed me that one of the people of interest in this case has been buying several items of note especially considering that they may soon have a captive in their hands.” Mycroft's voice was tenuous at best. "Am I to believe that John is willingly going to put himself in mortal danger?"

                        “It’s cliché, overtly obvious, and rather boring. But that’s what happens when the plan of a Mastermind is left in the hands of an idiot.” Sherlock snapped, resuming his usual manner as he explained what should be obvious to those who couldn't see it. "John and I have discussed all of the details that I have. This is all part of the plan, the web left behind to enact final vengeance. He is aware of the dangers!" His anger spiked and was clear in his voice.

                        “Well that fact aside, I think we need to consider how we’re going to ensure that John doesn’t end up on the losing side of this game!” Mycroft sighed. "You don't seem to be thinking about the fact that his _life_ is at stake!" He barely raised his voice but the anger was clear.

                        “Look,” John said suddenly, very agitated. “I know what I’m doing. I'm not an idiot despite what you two think." His voice was tight with anger. "I know that this could all go wrong and I could end up next to that box of bricks and dirt. I know I'm going to end up in the hospital and on the edge of darkness. I think that I have proven by now, Mycroft, that I am perfectly capable of handling myself in the face of danger. I was not crippled by terrorists, or war, or C4 strapped to my chest, or a sniper's laser sight pointed at my chest. The only thing that has ever unseated me was the belief that your brother was dead! This is nothing! This is a fumbling girl on a power trip! I can handle this so please, all of you, stop treating me like a child!" Sherlock was caught off guard by the tension in John's voice and sighed, allowing himself to relax.

                        “I believe I have mentioned before that courage is by far the nicest word for stupidity.” Mycroft growled.

                        “And I believe I told you that it was none of your business.” John’s temper was thin.

                        “Boys settle down.” Lestrade said softly, putting his hand on both John and Mycroft’s shoulders. “Mycroft we both know John has considered all the options. I’m sure if he and Sherlock couldn’t figure out something different then there wasn’t another option. I will have ambulances ready to take anyone who needs to straight to hospital. John will be fine.”

                        "So what _is_ the plan?" Mycroft said softly, leaning back.

                        "The gas leak was obvious, some sort of trap has been set in Baker Street. It is likely set to go off on New Year's, a sentimental symbol, and will likely be triggered exactly a half an hour after midnight - the exact moment that _The Woman_ called Moriarty with her information that saved us in the pool. Well done on that, Mycroft, by the way. I don't think I ever gave you credit for that. Though we had the situation in hand."

                        "So I have heard, going to blow up the whole place and yourselves as well. Dreadfully bad for business really." The snippy tones passing between the brothers did nothing for John's nerves.

                        "John will be taken from the flat to some other location, likely one of these warehouses. She's not going to do anything that will put him in mortal danger right away, no." He tapped his foot aware that pacing was not exactly condoned in a place like this. "The entire point of this charade is for me to see him hurt. To see him suffer." His voice caught and John gently took his hand in his own. "So she's going to be there, wherever he is waiting for me to find them. If Moriarty were alive he would have already adjusted the plan once we'd moved to the manor. But he's not and he obviously did not expect me to be afraid enough to leave Baker Street, so she has simply waited  for the signs that the plan could be continued where it left off. It was foolish and I have to concede it's very distressing that he would have even put this plan in motion it's a sentimental notion that is doomed to fail because he himself is not pulling the strings."

                        "Have you taken into account that perhaps it is meant to look like that?" Mycroft countered. "That perhaps you're missing something?"

                        "I have considered that there were alternate plans put forth, that an alternate was available for her to use. But she has already shown her hand as it were. She is consumed by anger. She has dogged John since my death, tried to squeeze information out of him. To put the screws to him to watch him suffer. Her own heart has turned bitter because Moriarty killed himself without thought to her feelings, because he truly didn't care about her. So she is both enacting the plan of the man she loved and resenting it - allowing her to make several failures and make the path before us clearer than ever."

                        "John, what do you make of all of this?" Lestrade asked softly, hoping to make sense of what Sherlock had said.

                        "It's exactly like he said. She believes herself to be the John to Moriarty's Sherlock. She thought he loved her, I'm guessing he played it along wanting to have someone he could use. She was already there on the edge of all the reporter groups that came along wherever we went. I think that she thinks she is more than she actually is. But she's well hidden, there is no way to draw out this game than to play. It's a game of chess that started years ago." John said it meaningfully and was rewarded with just a slight flush of color on Sherlock's cheeks.

                        "And that's it?" Lestrade's confusion was clear. "You're just okay with this?"

                        "Really Greg?" John's tone was so closely mimicking Sherlock's 'You tiny brained idiot' tone that Lestrade actually fought a laugh. "I don't have a choice of being okay with this. There isn't another option, if there had been we would have found it. She's not a serial killer, she's not a criminal mastermind. She doesn't know what she's doing. But this plan has been put into play just as well as if Moriarty himself had done it. Sure this time there is no Richard Brooks, the press don't care what happens to the 'confirmed bachelor John Watson,' and the world hasn't been led to believe I have the information on a computer code that is the key to all the doors. But I might as well be back on top of St. Bart's faced with the same choice that Sherlock had to make. Someone has to fall and this time it's me." Sherlock actually grunted and stood, caught off guard by the way John had spoken. The tone in his voice so very like Sherlock's when he was explaining the plan, the glint in his eyes of steeled determination, and a hint of superiority that came with seeing something others didn't. Sherlock was influencing John more than he'd ever expected and it was somewhat terrifying. He paced a few times through the room, his eyes never leaving John as he did. Those words could have come out of Sherlock's own mouth and it worried him that they had fallen so casually from John's. "I'm sorry." John's voice carried softly through the room and he looked directly at Sherlock. "That was a bad choice of..." Sherlock cut him off with a chaste kiss.

                        "No, you're right. The logic of your statement is correct. I just find myself at a loss of facing my words in your mouth and your emotion in my heart." The look on Sherlock's face conveyed pain, guilt, and love. It sucked the air out of John's chest and for a moment the two of them forgot they had an audience, John resting his forehead against Sherlock's chest while Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck. It took a long time before someone broke the silence.

                        "It is slightly alarming how much you have become like my brother." Mycroft said softly, the two breaking apart and blushing just slightly. "Though I suppose it was to be expected with your relationship. You are a quick learner John, which meant that it was only a matter of time before you began to become a sort of detective in your own right. The two of you seem to have truly considered every angle on this so though it goes against my better judgment I shall concede that my arguments are defeated and simply offer to help in whatever way I can following the event in question."

                        "Christ, two of you?" Lestrade sighed and ran his hand over his face. "Really, I never expected to hear you sound so much like him John. Mycroft's right though, I should have. You two just be careful alright."

                        "Well you're going to be with me Greg, so you can make sure I am." Sherlock spoke softly, sitting back down and blinking back his emotion. "We're having a New Years get together, the three of us. Mrs. Hudson will be out of town visiting her sister so we'll have the run of the place to ourselves."

                        "Oh Christ..." Lestrade shook his head. "It always gets better with you two doesn't it? Alright then."

                        "Be there at eight o'clock on the nose." The detective smirked settling into his food without John even asking him to.

            The four of them ate in relative peace, Mycroft dismissing himself first and the Lestrade shortly after. A small smirk playing at the corners of Sherlock's mouth as he turned to survey John fully. They were all alone in a fancy restaurant, John had some concerns.

                        "What?" John demanded, knowing that Sherlock's mind was hard to keep up with.

                        "You, just you. Well not just you, but you get the point." He blushed slightly again and John smiled, putting a hand up to touch his cheek. "We really are changing each other, doesn't that frighten you?"

                        "Not a bit." His reply was so quick and so _honest_ it took Sherlock's breath away. "It's really to be expected, yea?" He smiled as Sherlock leaned into his touch. "You've been training me anyways. That's why you always ask me what I see, what I think..." He giggled and Sherlock blushed. So he had been caught. "You don't want to be the world's _only_ consulting detective. You  want to be the one on top. The world's _leading_ consulting detective. If the Yard started seeing things the way you do, you'd be happier than ever. You push people away and isolate yourself because you think no one understands but you met your match in me. I'm too stubborn to walk away."

                        "Don't start acting like you know everything about me." He said in a soft but snappish tone, but the blush on his cheeks and the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth gave him away. John ran his fingers up into those dark curls and pulled Sherlock forward into a soft kiss.

                        "I'm the _only_ one who knows everything about you. Whether you showed me or I found out on my own is irrelevant."

            They finished dinner and returned to the flat, both of them aware that the next morning would bring the war to life. They passed the morning and afternoon of New Years Eve rather uneventfully, enjoying the sounds of Baker Street and relaxing together. Lestrade showed up early and for once had actually brought drinks with him. John cooked a simple but decent dinner which they shared as they laughed and talked for hours. There was something so completely safe about the moment that for awhile they forgot the clock beating against them, the web closing around them, and the looming danger. Lestrade fell asleep on the couch sometime around eleven leaving the two men in silence as the appointed hour drew nearer. Sherlock strode over and grabbed John into a full embrace and a deeply passionate kiss when the clock chimed for the New Year, not even breathing a word before he did it. Then he took up his violin and began to play, startling Lestrade out of his sleep.

                        "What time is it?" He slurred his words out, as he rubbed his face.

                        "About ten after." John handed him a cup of tea. Sherlock finished playing and John moved to look out the window. Silence descended as the tension in the flat bore down on the three men. Minute by minute crawled by until there was only one minute left. "I love you Sherlock." John whispered softly.

                        "Don't be sentimental." Sherlock chided, John sighed. "It means I love you too."

BOOM!

            The entire flat shook, debris flew everywhere and the men were thrown in opposite directions. Sherlock slammed into Lestrade and the two of them collided with the wall in the kitchen. John was thrown hard into the couch and lay sprawled on the floor unconscious. Sherlock looked up, his forehead bleeding and his body ached everywhere. He couldn't get up, his body not responding with as disoriented as he was. Lestrade was out cold but didn't seem to be bleeding too much. But John was clear across the room and looked bad. He tried to make himself get up, struggling as his head swam and his vision came and went. Within minutes there were sirens. Sherlock saw two figured run into the room, dressed as medical staff but something was off. He knew then the game was on, but he still struggled. He still tried to get to John, desperate to keep him safe. They had John on a stretcher and out of the flat before Sherlock even got to his knees, but the sirens had only just arrived. He tried to say something as Donovan came in the room but everything went black.

            John groaned as he started to come around, his head felt like it was spinning off his neck. Something was in his mouth, cloth. It tasted dirty, like it had been on the ground. It smelled horrid and the taste made him gag. He looked up at his surroundings, trying to absorb what he could but his mind felt like it was moving through honey.

-Warehouse, smell of something like sulfur, metallic taste in the air, the smell of scorched material maybe from welding - _metal storage, metal working, likely shipping or machine parts_

-The floor was a black concrete, barren and blank. - _Definitely Warehouse 2_

            He heard footsteps and looked up into the face of Kitty Riley, a sneer to rival any other he'd ever seen playing across her face. She backhanded him rather hard for a girl but he wasn't fazed, his lip bleed though. His back ached and he realized that his shin was cut open and very poorly bandaged. She backhanded him again and then a third time for measure, growling.

                        "You're going to die here John Watson." Her growl was almost cute.

                        "That's rather ambitious of you." He snapped back, fighting back a laugh. Why was that his comeback? Was his brain that addled?

                        "You think this is funny?" She growled again. "I'm going to make you pay and he's going to watch."

                        "You're all talk, Kitty. Sherlock will come and we will win and you will lose just like Moriar..." She punched him this time, hard. He felt the skin over his jaw and teeth break open.

                        "Don't you say his name." She snapped and a man walked over with a small case. She flipped it open and pulled out a cell phone and a syringe with a foggy liquid in it. She quickly sent a text and snapped a picture of John, sending it as well. She then leaned down and injected the contents of the syringe into his arm. "You have twelve hours left of your life, John Watson. I suggest you enjoy them." She turned to walk away and he started laughing again. "Well as much as you can tied like a pup."

                        "You don't scare me Kitty. Because you're just a girl... A girl with a grudge because the boy she liked had eyes for someone else." He was being incredibly stupid but just now he didn't care. If he might die why not speak his mind?

                        "He loved me!" She raged and the man punched John hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to black out.

            A text alert noise was the first sound that Sherlock heard next. When he opened his eyes he was in the hospital and Mycroft was sitting beside him. A quick look over Mycroft's face told him what he needed to know. They'd taken John as expected.

                        "Injuries?" He demanded quickly.

                        "Minor, both you and Lestrade were rendered unconscious by the blast. Lestrade was discharged a few hours ago but you have taken a bit longer to come around. It's been about seven hours since the explosion of the gas main in 221. You have had two text messages since then, one two hours ago and one just now."

                        "John?"

                        "Not there." Mycroft's mouth was thinner than normal, he didn't like the way this was going already.

                        "Obviously." Sherlock pushed himself up, feeling the room spin only slightly. A quick inventory of himself told him all he needed to know. His forehead was bruised, slightly sprain to his left wrist, but no permanent damage. He picked up his phone and his heart did a flip.

_You have twelve hours, Mr. Holmes. Then he dies. KR_

The message had come two hours ago.

_Ten hours left, I think I'll keep this ring as a souvenir. KR_

            The first message had included a picture clearly showing Sherlock the extent of John's chest and face. No major injuries looked present. That was enough to be going on with there. The second picture showed the John unconscious and tied to a chair. The syringe on the ground added the final clue that Sherlock needed about John's condition and instilled in him a greater rush of panic. The picture was deliberately vague but Sherlock already knew which of the warehouses it was. He pushed himself up out of the bed, determination crossing his face as he ripped off his hospital gown and started pulling on the clothes Mycroft had brought him. Sherlock started typing away at something on his phone and opened a web page, a smirk on his face as the map showed GPS coordinates for something.

                        "You should really..."

                        "There is no time." He snapped. "Twelve hours was more than I needed but two are already wasted and  for every minute he's in their hands I lose."

_Warehouse two. No sirens, no lights. I go in first. Bring an ambulance and a small group of officers. DO NOT BRING Anderson. SH_

_I'm glad you're not badly injured. SH_

He sent the second just as he received a response from Lestrade.

_Yea, I'm fine too thanks. Meet you there. GL_

_Git. GL_

                        "I took the liberty of having your car brought here. The driver will take you to the warehouse. I will have a medical team waiting. Sherlock," Mycroft's face tightened slightly. "Do be careful." Sherlock's reply was shouted over his shoulder and back at Mycroft.

                        "I will be more delicate than I ever have been Mycroft, the game is on and my fiancée is at stake." 


	10. Debt Cleared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock knows time is against him and he must get to John and get him away from danger as quickly as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit mention of violence, mentally unstable character, blood, torture, things you might expect for someone in captivity abound.
> 
> See notes at the end for some questions I have for you!

        John grunted as he slowly woke again, judging by the physical sensations he was suffering he had been out for just under half an hour. The markers for the poison were clear. Right now his blood felt like fire in his veins. He could feel his pulse almost as if it was a drum pounding in his body. That was stage one of the poisoning. Stage two would be much worse. Kitty was arguing with a guard not far from him and when she noticed he was awake she smirked and came back to him. She straddled him and leaned her arms on his chest so her face was merely inches from his.

                        "So tell me Johnny Boy why hasn't your Master shown up yet?" She laughed when John just glared refusing to answer her. "Oh be boring then. I'll just tell you. It's because he is still in the hospital." She said joyously. "Maybe he died! Wouldn't that be ever so disappointing for you? That would mean you would die all alone. Too bad," She got up and walked a bit away to a table, fiddling with something on it.

                        "Do you honestly think Moriarty cared about you?" John's voice was normal, it irked her. They weren't here to chat.

                        "I was his closest confidant. He told me everything." John snorted with laughter.

                        "Right, I'm sure he did." John smirked.

                        "He did!" She insisted.

                        "So that's why you went to Sherlock for a story?" She whipped around. "Or why he went to _her_ for help before he went to you?" She growled. "Oh you didn't know that he asked her for help? I mean he probably could have cracked the code himself but she wouldn't give it to him. So he sent Sherlock to her." John smirked. "No, you obviously are just a foolish girl. He used you and left you behind. This isn't about him though is it? You have some sort of issue..." She cut him off as she turned around.

                        "You ruined everything!" She shouted and walked over to him, she was now brandishing a scalpel. She cut his shirt away. "He was so happy. His plan was perfect! He was going to kill Sherlock and then he wouldn't have had to worry about him. He designed that scheme with the pill and it was PERFECT!" She screamed. "And Sherlock would have taken that pill if you hadn't shown up..." She growled and sliced down the center of his chest drawing blood. John didn't flinch, but the blood ran. "But as if that wasn't bad enough you even had to write about it. You stole my story!" Another slice this time on an angle, he still didn't react. Suddenly it all made sense. She didn't care about Moriarty's plan, no she cared that his blog robbed the paparazzi from their scoop, specifically her. "And then you ruined everything again when he was having so much fun watching Sherlock dance. But no, you had to show that idiot Sherlock he has a heart. Suddenly he actually cared about people. Suddenly he was human, he was bewildered by a case, confused by Moriarty's game, watching people suffer and visibly upset by it." She was screaming at the top of her lungs as she brought the scalpel across in the opposite direction, an x cut across his chest. She straddled him again, pressing the blade against his neck. "He was so hurt, so disappointed and all because you ruined Sherlock. You broke him." She grinned as she touched his battle scars before driving the blade into his skin just below his left clavicle and dragging it to create a K. "Look at all his sweet little marks." She smirked touching the love bites around his neck. "But you're my pet now, well until you die that is." She growled tracing an R right next to the K, carving her initials into his chest. John grit his teeth, but that was all the reaction he gave her. "And then _she_ just had to show up. And she made it all so much worse..."

            Kitty was just rambling now. She continued tracing the letters for about five minutes before getting up. She kept pacing away and then pacing back, whenever she got close to him she would slash him again with the scalpel; sometimes lightly, other times deeply but each time with malice and hatred. Time seemed to pass slowly, Kitty wandering back over to retrace the initials or cut him someplace new before wandering back out to pace and spew her insanity. There was no clock, but John could tell the moment the two hour mark hit as could feel the next stage of the poisoning rocketing through his body. His muscles felt like they were on fire. He didn't let it show on his face, channeling his military training to keep himself strong. Sherlock would show he just had to wait.

                        "Wait, what's this?" Kitty asked grabbing John's hand. She laughed. "Oh isn't that precious. He gave you a ring? No," She gasped incredulously. "What are you two going to be consulting husbands now?!" She giggled and ripped the ring off John's finger, finally garnering a response for him. He struggled trying to get it back. "Oh look, he does care." She growled and punched him in the right side of his face, reopening the wound from earlier. "It's mine now." She slipped it on her thumb, ignoring the blood. "Only ten hours left Johnny boy, then it's your curtain call."

            Sherlock directed the driver where to go but his mind was racing; it was racing faster than it normally did when he was chasing criminals. Trying to process the insane amount of data he was trying to sort through while ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. He was worried; the guilt nagging at his stomach was too much for him to allow himself to relax. He'd lost two hours; which meant John had suffered for two hours. He would already be in the next stage of the poison's course and it would be immensely painful. This was a failure on his part and he wanted to make sure it didn't continue on longer than necessary. When the car pulled up to the alleyway about a block from the warehouse, Sherlock jumped out before it came to a complete stop; Lestrade was waiting for him, his team in dark clothing and concealing their weapons just as Sherlock caught up to them. Sherlock moved quickly around, surveying the situation and gathering data – but the way he moved was disjointed and distracted a far cry from his normal behavior. He turned to Lestrade, who was concerned by the look on his face. He'd never dealt with an emotional Sherlock and it was rather frightening.

                        "Alright, you and Donovan with me, we'll go in first and alone. Kitty is going to be waiting for me. She won't expect me to bring you – so that's our advantage. We've already lost two hours and I don't want to waste more. He's not well, it is going to be difficult to see but I need you two on your top game. Whatever happens, do not act until I give the signal." Sherlock's voice was low and deadly, which made both of the officers uncomfortable.

                        "He should be the one giving the orders," Donovan said softly, pointing to Lestrade. She was concerned about the state of Sherlock's mind, more so than usual.

                        "Not on this. The warning will be a gun shot. I am not sure how the gun shot will happen but it will. When it rings out they can rush the building but not until. If we do not do this carefully…" Sherlock's voice dropped off and Lestrade nodded. Lestrade gently put his hand on Sherlock's arm, a move he normally would not have done. It lingered only a moment before Sherlock turned to him with a strange, pained look on his face. He apparently could not tolerate the sentiment right now.

                        "As near as we can tell it's just six people in there. The thermals hard to read…" Lestrade offered, trying to give him more data. Sherlock growled.

                        "Stop talking and follow along." Sherlock's voice was tense and his arm shook just slightly. Lestrade just nodded and let it go; this was new ground for all of them. Sherlock was affected. Donovan glanced to Lestrade but he simply shook his head.

            Sherlock led the way swiftly through the two streets that separated them from the actual warehouse without a single word. The smell of molten metal burned in their noses and covered over any other scent as they moved around the edge of the building to find a way in. Sherlock motioned to a door ahead and pulled a lock pick kit from one of his pockets; the door was an easy lock to get passed and within moments the three of them were swallowed by the darkness within the warehouse. There were yellowish flood lights dotting the hallway bathing them in a strangely ghastly light. Directly in front of them was a wiry metal staircase. Sherlock motioned for them to be quiet and they ascended the stairs. The metal frame wrapped around the top of the building creating a sort of wide loft in the warehouse, a few feet passed the top of the stairs they were able to see into the wide open warehouse below them. The scene down in the warehouse was like a bad horror movie: a bright white spotlight shone down from the second floor down onto the center of the room below, and centered within the patch of light was John, still tied to the chair and clearly not doing well. Their vantage point was too far for Sherlock to make out much from his position, but he was able to gain a little information: John's eyes were open, his was tilted head back, and Kitty was straddled on his lap with her attention focused on her hands. He couldn't clearly see what she was doing but they could hear the soft din of her talking and the random insane giggles she let forth. About ten feet ahead of them a guard stepped back from the railing, shifting in his boredom. His attention was fixed on the warehouse below, clearly expecting a frontal assault by Sherlock. Sherlock motioned to Lestrade and Donovan to wait where they were and he moved fluidly and silently behind the guard. With a few short martial arts moves he disabled the guard, catching the man's body as it crumpled and lowering him to the floor. Donovan looked at Lestrade with wide eyes, her pistol shaking slightly in her hands but all he could offer was a shrug. He knew Sherlock was dangerous, now he had proof. They continued on ahead and watched as Sherlock repeated the pattern four times and disabled all the guards. There was no staircase down on the left side of the warehouse so Sherlock motioned for Donovan to remain there and Lestrade to return back towards the way they had come in. Meanwhile he himself descended the staircase directly behind the spotlight. He moved silently into the shadows to the right of John and Kitty, taking in the scene before him.

            From his position he could now see what Kitty was doing and it made rage sweep through his body in a way he'd never expected to feel. She had the scalpel in her hand and was making noises like a little girl drawing a picture as she continued carve her initials into John's chest, though the pattern was now completely obscured by blood. Sherlock watched and easily registered the pattern of the letters and he could tell from the amount of blood this was not the first time she had done this.

                        "Come on now, you can scream." She said coaxingly. "I know it hurts." Kitty laughed continuing on in her work while the dark laugh turning into a full on giggle. She grabbed John's hair with a bloody hand and forced him to meet her eyes. Her body language and look clearly demanding a response from her, but he gave her nothing, keeping his eyes focused on something beyond her. She growled and went back to carving but John felt relief spread through his body, he could feel Sherlock's gaze burning. He didn't show any sign of Sherlock's presence and Kitty for her part was too absorbed in dragging the blade down over the meatier part of John's right forearm, slicing it open.

            Sherlock felt his adoration for and his pride in John swell as he watched the scene before him completely transfixed. Sherlock marveled at how he didn't cry out despite the fact he had to be in immense pain. There was no way he couldn't be. She'd carved him up like a turkey and the poison was likely raging through his system now. Sherlock catalogued John's injuries quickly: dried blood over his thighs, down his leg, down his left arm; fresh blood over his cheek, his chest, his right arm, his shin; tremors running through his body as he fought the poison and blood loss, struggling to remain conscious. She pressed the knife down harder and John's body twitched involuntarily but he didn't make a sound. Sherlock went to move just as Kitty spoke again.

                        "I bet your body feels like fire right now." She laughed but her voice had a teasing, sing-song like quality to it. "If he doesn't come to get you soon he'll miss all the good parts." She mocked being concerned but giggled again. "That'll be a shame – if he misses the moment you cease knowing yourself."

                        "But you know I wouldn't miss it." Sherlock replied calmly, stepping out of the shadows. He could feel the relief that John sank into but he could tell the situation was still tenuous. He had a pistol easily accessible in his coat pocket, but made no intention of drawing it just yet. He instead just waited to see what Kitty would do, sizing up the situation.

                        "You're late." She sang at him. "I thought you weren't going to come at all, it was going to be ever so disappointing." She giggled, standing up off of John. John didn't turn to look at Sherlock and Sherlock kept his gaze focused on Kitty. He sneered slightly as he realized John's ring was bloodied and slid over Kitty's right thumb. She twirled the scalpel and giggled again. The woman was completely deranged, her eyes wild and crazy as she approached Sherlock.

                        "I would never want to disappoint _you_." He growled. Her hair was a mess, it stood up at weird angles and looked like she'd run her hands through it several times without realizing she was dripping with John's blood. His blood stained her blouse, her skirt, and her hands. Another smear was prominent over her cheek where she had carelessly wiped sweat away. She was unstable and Sherlock felt nothing but panic at the fact he could not get between her and John.

                        "No, you wouldn't disappoint _him_ , your poor sweet pet. You'd never leave him to die all alone." She was still sort of singing at Sherlock and it unnerved him slightly, the woman had clearly lost her mind. "No, you'd never. But it's too late." She flashed her teeth at him in a huge grin.

                        "You're wrong." His tone made her growl and she stepped towards him. It made Sherlock tense and the sight of John's blood on her was not helping his calm demeanor. "It is not too late for him, but it is for you."

                        "For me," She laughed. "I've won." She yelled it loudly and John actually flinched. His eyes were slightly unfazed and Sherlock knew they were wasting precious time. But her mental state worried Sherlock and he knew he needed to keep her attention off of John.

                        "No you haven't." He chuckled slightly. He narrowed his gaze on her, a sneer crossing his face. He quickly shifted his eyes as he analyzed her.

-Her red hair was more copper colored than the last time, her eyes tired and weak, and her entire persona unkempt – _She hasn't worked in four, no five months._

-Her nails were chipped, her shirt torn in several places – _Her appearance no longer matters, deep sentiment_

-No gun in her shirt pocket, no pockets on her pants, no jacket despite freezing temperatures – _unarmed, thinks she has the upper hand_

                        "Oh are you deducing me?" She asked widening her eyes as if she was surprised. "Tell me poppet, what do you see?" She giggled darkly.

                        "Your attempt to act like your former 'Master' notwithstanding, you're failing. Miserably, I might add." Sherlock let out a huff of laughter. "Oh…" He said it softly in the tone he used when the pieces clicked together. "Oh, you stupid girl," He chided.

                        "Oh what," She growled, her tone changing. He could feel the danger as her mind shifted.

                        "Oh he was right about me always wanting everything to be clever. But you're not clever are you? No you're an idiot, an idiot who didn't even see that this web was closing in around you while you believed yourself to be in control. It's always harder to see your own fall." His tone lowered, his gaze darkened.

                        "The only one falling is you." She snapped, her voice betraying fear.

                        "Ah so you had considered it." He chuckled softly. "No we are done here. This was all a lovely game and thank you an entertaining six months but this is over." Sherlock drew the pistol. "Did he plan this out with you before he died? I can just picture it. He told you every little detail of how to do it, where to go, what building to use, which poison to administer, where to buy it, how to setup the trap to snare the trophy…" Her eyes narrowed as she looked momentarily hurt as she remembered. "Ah, so he did. I can tell by your eyes. He must have spent night after night with you going over the plans, showing you exactly how to do everything and you just ate it up like the idiot you are. Assuming that his attention equated to sentiment, just waiting to do this for _him_ , to show him that you loved him best, that you were worth his time," John's head was swimming but even he could hear the laughter in Sherlock's voice as the detective did what he did best. In some ways it was comforting but the comfort of it was short lived as a new wave of pain shot through his body. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay awake and he could feel the next stage of the muscular effects of the poison starting to set in. _Shit_ , they were at another marker. He had to snap Sherlock out of the game.

                        "E-eight," John's voice cut through the discussion and both of them turned to look at him in shock. Sherlock understood immediately what John was trying to say and the panic almost boiled over in his stomach. John's head sank down towards his chest and Sherlock could not hide the tremor that ran through his hand. He refocused his attention, if he did not get John out of here and to the hospital in the next two hours he would begin to suffer lasting damage.

                        "He loved me, this is his vengeance." Kitty snarled, drawing Sherlock's gaze back to herself, her voice becoming dangerous.

                        "This is his vengeance, but not on me. This is his vengeance on you for turning away from him, for betraying him."

                        "I never betrayed him!" She shouted, but looked worried.

                        "Oh but you did. You came to me for an interview, while he was in the same building no less. So now you're going to take a fall too. You're going to pay for proving that you are just like every other boring idiot he came in contact with – the only bonus is that he thought you might have succeeded in at least injuring John and thus injuring me. He went to his grave confident everyone left to suffer would." Sherlock moved towards John but Kitty growled and jumped between them, brandishing the knife at Sherlock.

                        "HE LOVED ME!" She growled like a cat, flashing the scalpel.

                        "No, he toyed with you. You were nothing more than a pawn, just like _The Woman_. He never intended to have relations with you. He was above sentiment; otherwise he wouldn't have been so upset with John's presence in my life. So he had her killed…"

                        "I killed her." She shouted. "I cut my name all over her little body. Just like I did your little pet, Johnny boy," She'd stepped back towards John, as if guarding him from Sherlock. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, deducting the situation to find his next move when Kitty let out a shriek. John, utilizing an amount of strength that Sherlock didn't know he'd still possessed kicked Kitty's legs out from under her, hooking one of her legs in such a way that a pistol slid out from a holster on her thigh.

            Sherlock fought the smirk that toyed at the edges of his mouth as he realized what John had done. He pulled his pistol out and aimed it squarely at the woman on the ground, moving over and kicking her pistol further away.

                        "And so he got his vengeance on her and all that was left was you. Put your hands where I can see them." She looked up at him with wild eyes before she sprang.

            She moved like a cat and tackled Sherlock at the knees, smacking his head into the ground hard. There were a few minutes of tense struggle as she tried to stab him with the scalpel. Her actions dislodged the pistol from his hand as he deflected one swipe only to be caught with the next. The scalpel lodged itself in his right bicep and he let out a shout. He went to grab her but she rolled away, flipping over as she did and coming up with his pistol firmly in her hand. She pointed it first at John but then smirking she turned it to Sherlock's chest.

                        "I was going to let you live. I was going to let you live so you could watch him die. So you could feel how it is to lose the one you love, but now… Now I'm just going to kill you." She giggled again, watching his blood run on his arm.

                        "Obvious, trite, and boring," Sherlock snapped. Her hand trembled on the pistol grip and just as she focused herself to fire she shrieked, a gunshot ringing out through the building. Kitty dropped to her knees, a bullet hole through her right leg. Donovan tackled her and pinned her _hard_ to the ground, not even trying to be gentle as she cuffed the insane screaming woman. Sherlock however pulled himself up off the ground, shaking like mad but his full attention focused on John. John grunted softly as the pain ramped up.

                        "Sherlock are you alright?" Lestrade shouted as he ran towards him, putting his gun away. Sherlock nodded slightly not speaking but moving as swiftly as he could over and clumsily freeing John.

                        "Sher…lock…" John grunted, trying to say something.

                        "Hush, John. I've got you, I'm here." Sherlock said and repeated it four times before John seemed to just collapse again him. He pulled John into himself with his left arm, almost crushing John to him. "I'm here, focus on me John. Please…" He whispered feeling like he was trying to focus through a tunnel.

                        "MEDICS!" Lestrade shouted as he turned back to the door, officers swarming in.

            Kitty screamed and hissed as she fought against the arms that held her, shouting random nonsense as she did. However she wasn't getting free, the look on Donovan's face was dark and it was perfectly clear she was going to make sure this woman went to jail. Two medics came over and taking the woman from Donovan and escorting her to a waiting ambulance. Donovan followed her, taking it on herself to be her guard. Sherlock was trying to carry all of John's weight, leveraging it on his left side. His arm was tight around John's waist as he helped him toward the doors, seemingly unaware of the blood running on his own arm and the scalpel still lodged in the wound. Lestrade tried to get Sherlock to focus as two medical workers came in and tried to take John from Sherlock to place him on a stretcher and into an ambulance. Sherlock refused to let him go, holding him so tight John grunted and his knuckles were white. John's eyes were vacant and Sherlock was clearly in shock.

                        "It's alright Sherlock," Lestrade whispered putting his hand on Sherlock's back to get his attention. "These are _my_ guys." He said it with emphasis, trying to reassure Sherlock. When Sherlock made no reply he shook the detective slightly. "They're with me, yea?" He repeated, getting Sherlock to meet his eyes. Sherlock barely nodded as he let Lestrade pry John loose of his grip. He even consented to let Lestrade physically guide him toward the ambulance alongside the stretcher. "What's he need, Sherlock," Lestrade asked softly, trying to bring Sherlock back around. "What's he need for the poison? You know what it is, tell them so they can start the treatment right now." He encouraged.

                        "Chelation," Sherlock finally whispered, but his focus was still missing. "Chelation and mineral supplements…" Lestrade moved to say something when John shouted.

                        "My ring…" John grunted suddenly, almost sitting straight up again the techs working on him. The medics looked astonished and forced him back down, though he struggled against them. Sherlock's eyes snapped back to John as he spoke and he moved easily into the ambulance to sit next to him.

                        "It's alright John, it's alright." Sherlock tried to put his hand on John's but realized he was using his right arm. He grunted and switched to the left side not responding to anything else anyone said until John seemed to settle down.

                        "Sherlock, look at me." Lestrade ordered and Sherlock looked up at him, confusion on his face. "I'm going to meet you at the hospital, okay? Mycroft's already there waiting for you. Nod your head that you understand me." Sherlock nodded but his attention was completely focused on John. Lestrade closed the doors and the ambulance was quickly on its way. He was completely astonished, he'd never knew Sherlock could be so put off.

                        "It'll be okay John." Sherlock whispered, putting his hand on John. But his voice was still odd. They'd almost wasted too much time. There was danger that he would be permanently compromised because of this. Guilt welled up inside Sherlock's stomach and John who was both half in the world and half out of it felt the tremor that ran through the detective.

                        "It will…" He offered softly before finally succumbing to his injuries and collapsing.

            They arrived at the hospital in short measure and John was taken to a private suite. Sherlock assumed this was done at Mycroft's direction, which was confirmed when he saw Mycroft waiting for them in the room. Sherlock followed alongside John's stretcher, clinging to his hand and completely oblivious to the world around him. The medical staff hovered around John, working as they moved him. They tried several times to get Sherlock to move, as he was obstructing them, but he absolutely refused. They drew blood to run scans, dressed his various wounds cleaning him up as best they could. Mycroft eventually stepped in and was able to pry Sherlock away from John, Sherlock allowing his brother to guide him without a word of protest. Mycroft sat him down in the suite and motioned to a nurse who came over and cut away Sherlock's shirt and jacket, exposing his arm. She pulled the scalpel out and Sherlock barely grunted. She wanted to have a doctor stitch the wound closed but she knew that getting Sherlock to leave the room would be impossible so she used medical packing to fill the wound and bandaged it tightly. Sherlock's focused returned to John, he seemed to be resting comfortably for the moment, but his wounds looked very bad. They'd closed or stitched all his wounds and cleaned off as much of the blood as they could. Mycroft stepped out of the room and discussed something with a doctor before returning and clearing his throat. Sherlock turned his attention to his brother and Mycroft was completely disarmed by the sheer emotion that his face betrayed. Silence descended heavily around them for almost a half an hour before Mycroft finally felt it prudent to speak.

                        "You both could have been killed by that insane woman." His voice betrayed his concern slightly, but it seemed to bring Sherlock back into the moment.

                        "We could have," Sherlock conceded. "She was completely deranged, I could not have anticipated that. I also realized too late that this entire charade was aimed at her as well. Not just at me and John…" His voice was distant as he tried to block the emotion he was feeling. His eyes fell on the bandage on John's chest and he growled softly. She'd marked _his_ John with her initials. It irritated him immensely and made something very vile rise in his stomach. His thoughts quickly became dark as he plotted all of the things he could do to make her pay. Mycroft swept out of the room when a doctor motioned to him and about an hour later John slowly opened his eyes, groaning in pain.

                        "Sher…lock?" John asked softly, trying to lift his head. It hurt far too much to do however, so he sank back against the cushions.

                        "I'm here, John." Sherlock whispered, dragging his chair closer to the bed and resting his head against John's gently. John felt a tear that wasn't his own fall on his cheek.

                        "I'm 'lright Sherlock." He mumbled. "Well 'sides the fire in my blood." His speech was slurred and it rather hurt to talk.

                        "That's partially the poison and partially the antidote." He whispered back. But he also knew John was aware of that.

                        "Are you…" John grunted, trying to be stronger than he was.

                        "I'm alright…" Sherlock said dismissively. "Just a minor arm wound."

                        "Sherlock, come here." Mycroft called from the hallway and Sherlock growled but obliged moving to speak with a doctor. A nurse came in and fussed with John. Sherlock returned a few minutes later and then growled when a nurse came and drew blood from him.

                        "What are you doing?" He growled.

                        "We're going to test you for the poison, that scalpel was tainted." The nurse replied curtly.

                        "On whose orders?" He barked back at her.

                        "Your doctor," The nurse smirked and nodded to John. John blushed slightly and Sherlock shook his head. Even half dead John was worrying about him.

                        "Ah." He leaned his head down on John's again. "My sentimental doctor."

                        "Lestrade went to find out Kitty's status and is on his way up here. I want to know what happened Sherlock; I want you to tell me all of it." Mycroft was not asking.

                        "I'll tell you when he gets here, Mycroft. I would hate to repeat myself." Sherlock snapped, unhappy to be disturbed from his moment with John. He looked down and gently pushed John's hair back off his forehead, carding his fingers through those sandy locks. He saw John's gaze was focused on his left hand and he smiled reaching across to the table and fishing in the tatters of his jacket. He pulled out a small chain with a ring on it. "Don't worry John, I have your ring right here." He undid the chain and slid the ring on John's finger, watching as John sighed with relief.

                        "You… Oh… Right, I forgot." John whispered with confusion. He had forgotten about that part of the plan. He tried to say something else but Sherlock gently placed his finger over John's lips.

                        "Hush, it's alright John. If you had remembered that it was a fake she might have realized it as well. Though it proved to be an unnecessary precaution as I knew where you were from the picture."

                        "Guess…" John replied weakly, but smiled. Sherlock felt his heart lighten.

                        "I don't guess." He whispered in a firm tone, but a smile played on his lips. Relief was sweeping through his body as John eagerly and easily teased him.

                        "Yes…You do." John's grin was lopsided but he sighed as he lay back, utterly wrecked.

                        "Christ, he's okay." Lestrade's voice interrupted as he almost ran into the room. "Glad to see you're awake, John." Lestrade handed Sherlock a coffee and Sherlock smiled in appreciation.

                        "Eh Greg, I'm alright." John said dismissively, but let his eyes close. He was utterly exhausted.

                        "So Sherlock," Mycroft prompted sweeping his hand across the air in front of his abdomen.

                        "Kitty was completely deranged. This wasn't just vengeance for Moriarty; really I'm not even sure he was involved. I wanted him to be…" He sighed. "He may have been originally but this became about her anger. She dogged John after my death, so entirely fixated on seeing him suffer. She wrote articles for months after all of them focused on how he was apparently doing horrendous in coping with the loss of the fake genius. But eventually her editors got tired of her obsession; the people weren't buying the magazines anymore. They didn't care about poor old John Watson. Especially as they saw how loyal he was to my memory, it began to sway people away from the lies Moriarty had built. So she was fired and couldn't get new work. She refused to write about anything else so she seized on whatever memories she had left and enacted this scheme from the fragments. You see she had suffered so much because of John and I. Moriarty's attention so fixated on the ever present thorn in his side in me, John's blog taking away her stories about our various cases, the fact that I could make room in my life for John but he refused to give her anything at all. So she kidnapped John and gave him a slow acting muscle destroying poison that was a very diluted version of the same poison used by the cabbie." Sherlock's voice was tense and he sighed.

                        "So is this over now then?" Lestrade asked sighing.

                        "I believe so yes. Now we can go back to our normal insanity." Sherlock smiled, john squeezed his hand slightly.

                        "This entire ordeal has been madness Sherlock. I hope that it proves to you that…"

                        "Caring is not a disadvantage Mycroft. That's what this has proven to me. That having John at my side has saved my life in more ways than I previously imagined."

                        "I was going to say that having friends and allies was a worthy endeavor." Mycroft smirked slightly. "I'm going to have them bring a second bed in for you."

                        "Lestrade, thank you for everything," Sherlock sighed softly.

                        "Of course, Sherlock."

                        "He is a good man you know," John finally piped up and Lestrade grinned.

                        "So he is."

            Three months later Kitty was remanded to a mental institution after being declared mentally unfit for trial. It was a small amount of closure for John who bore many new scars from her game but he was happy enough to have the entire situation behind them. He and Sherlock made their union official and as Sherlock enjoyed telling Lestrade repeatedly they were now consulting husbands, Sherlock refusing to go on any case if Anderson was doing forensics and insisting instead that John do all of the forensic work. Mycroft pressed them to take an extended honeymoon which they readily agreed to, although to his displeasure they chose his guest manor as their destination.

                        "Sherlock you could go anywhere, why here?" Mycroft lamented as he came into the room.

                        "It's far enough away to allow relaxation…" Sherlock offered, shrugging.

                        "But close enough that if anything interesting happens he'll be able to jump on it." John giggled. Mycroft sighed and left the room.

                        "You know, I never mentioned how proud of you I was." Sherlock smiled and pulled John to him.

                        "What?" He looked confused, but smirked.

                        "You disarmed her when I didn't even know she had a gun or that you had the ability to that. You're definitely not the man I imagined you to be John Watson." He leaned in to kiss him.

                        "John Watson-Holmes." He grinned, their lips almost touching.

                        "Yes, consequently how did you know about the gun?" Sherlock smirked, raising an eyebrow.

                        "I didn't know, I noticed." John giggled.

                        "You guessed." Sherlock teased, smirking.

                        "I don't guess."

                        "So the case is closed, criminal in custody, you've managed to convince me to marry you, what do you do now doctor?"

                        "I'm not just a doctor; I'm a consulting medical detective." John smirked as he leaned in to kiss Sherlock again. "Only one in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at the end of the story loves! Thanks so much for reading this. I initially posted it as a WiP on FanFic.net but I am really glad to be posting over here now!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr if you'd like HollyGlow is the name!
> 
> I'm working on the sequel to this story called Princes and Kings - I have two different ideas about the direction of the sequel most likely involving Parent!Lock. If you have any prompts/ideas/thoughts please send them my way!


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